


In Sheep's Clothing

by FullFire



Category: The Wolf Among Us
Genre: Action, Anger, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Comedy, Death, Drama, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Fiction, Fluff, Humor, Kissing, POV Female Character, Plot, Reader-Insert, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Trust Issues, Violence, Wordcount: 100.000-150.000
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-23 21:36:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 46,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9679430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FullFire/pseuds/FullFire
Summary: Sometimes, the only way to get things done is by being big and being bad.Surrounded by magical creatures, you had to learn quickly to adopt his tendencies if you wanted to walk in his shadow. After all, he was a wolf. A wolf in sheep's clothing.Eventual Bigby Wolf x Reader





	1. The Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> DICLAIMER: I do not own 'The Wolf Among Us' or any related characters or merchandise.
> 
> Apologies for that.
> 
>  
> 
> Edited and updated version of my original from my old account. This will be a continued series from the beginning.  
> Please enjoy!  
> ~ FullFire

Polished black stilettos crisp on the wooden floor sounded high above the background noise as you walked through the large city hall.

All eyes were on you - the silhouette of a mystery, shrouded in ambiguity.

As you shrugged on your obsidian-coloured blazer, the luminous silver badge that was pinned to your chest winked to the passers by. A thing of controversy you carried on your hip - a Magnum Desert Eagle – sat comfortably in it's holster and in the magazine, 7 rounds of silver bullets. For protection only, of course.

It was too cold in this room, you noted, and you felt far too out of place amongst the Fables.

Hair was up in a pony-tail far too sultry for the job, nails were painted red, and your make up was subtle, with winged liner. A gentle reminder of who you were and who you belonged to. The Mundys - Humans.

It was a strange job, one you would avoid talking about at clubs or get-togethers. They had heard of Human Relations, but never to this extent. No, you were a Human/Fable Relations Officer, and where they had someone to keep peace amongst themselves, it was your job to keep peace between the Humans and the Fables. It was difficult, testing but exciting. Dealing with things out of the ordinary was something you had always loved, so dealing with things that were supposed to be in the realm of only fairy-tales was too good to pass.

It's just that the Fables had no idea such a job existed. Though most of them knew of you - the only Mundy allowed unprecedented access to their world.

So Ichabod Crane (yes, that guy from Sleepy Hollow) who was deemed the Mayor of Fabletown, said it would be both beneficial and necessary for you to make an appearance to show your standing amongst the Fables. Gladly, you agreed, and stepping up onto the stage with all these magical creatures staring up at you, some in Glamour, some (much to your annoyance) without, you flashed a flawless grin and flicked your hair.

"Hi. This is a little awkward for me, only a mere Mundy-" most of the fables laughed at the comment, and you smirked as you continued, "But I'm sure you all know who I am. It's my job to make sure none of you impact too much on the world of my kind and to handle the relations between yourselves and the humans with utmost care. I have been elected, by my government..." you trailed off, noticing from the corner of your eye, someone step onto stage with you. Crane realized your suspicion and quickly introduced you to the unknown shadow.

"Miss (last_name), this is Sheriff Bigby Wolf."

The man stepped forward, nodding to you. He had brown hair, long, swept back and resting just above his shoulders, and his white shirt with the sleeves rolled back spoke volumes of a man attempting to fit into a formal role, but not having the willpower or etiquette to keep it so. But most striking about him were his eyes, did they contain a hint of yellow?

"Oh, right, it's a pleasure," you held out your hand to him, which he gladly shook. Strangely, the feeling of relaxed murmuring in the hall ceased, and the air became stagnant. You frowned. "Is something wrong?"

"Uh, I'm not favoured by many fables here," the sheriff whispered to you. You knew his history - you were debriefed before you were sent here on mostly everybody's past. His of course, was the most interesting.

"Well, good thing all my bullets are made of silver, right?" You patted your trusty Desert Eagle, earning a few barks of laughter as the atmosphere released its tension. The sheriff seemed unamused by your comment as he crossed his arms and took a step back.

Wrapping up your speech, earning a few more laughs with your mild humour and cheeky attitude, the fables clearly had better things to do than stick around and congratulate you or wish you luck in your job as they all left when you were done. Turning, you found Crane right behind you.

"Miss (last_name), I'm sure you already know by now, but you will be working alongside Bigby-"

"I wasn't told that-"

"Well you are." Ichabod Crane bluntly cut you off and you had to exert a lot of mental effort to hold back on making a cutting remark, but that probably wouldn't end well. Ichabod Crane sighed. "Bigby will make sure you are educated in our kind and you know where the limits of your job are, good evening." And with that, the man took his leave.

When he had turned his back to leave, you promptly stuck your tongue out after him.

Bigby laughed, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

"Don't let him get to you," Bigby offered, retrieving a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and placing one in his mouth.

"Is he always so overbearing?" you asked.

"Yep, that's pretty much Crane summed up," the Sheriff replied.

"It is interesting, all of this," you gestured around you, meaning the fables and how the stories you were read as a child were in fact live beings. It was incredible. "Interesting for a Mundy like me."

"Yeah, you got a lot to learn about us." He lit his cigarette with a metal lighter he pulled from the back pocket of his trousers.

You watched him inhale, and wondered slightly if cigarettes would harm his race as much as it did yours.

Suddenly his eyes were on yours, piercing but dark – much softer than how they appeared to you first. They were beautiful, but you felt foolish for thinking so. Like a little girl, entranced and lulled by the wolf.

And as soon as his eyes were upon you, they darted elsewhere, almost as if he was checking you out - seeing who you really were. He seemed smarter than he let on.

"Well, we should get out of here. Not much work to be done in this place," he grumbled, stepping down off the stage. You immediately followed, hot on his heels.

He was muscular, his broad back spoke of a time where his brute strength was something he would carelessly throw around whenever he needed to get his own way. Though he seemed like a reformed character, you wondered how much it would take, how far someone could push him, before he let the beast out of it's cage.

"You okay?"

His deep voice pulled you from your thoughts. He had such a soothing voice, despite its gruffness.

"Mmm," you hummed, murmuring, "I'm fine."

"Well," He stopped, pulling open the door to the world and holding it for you in a gentlemanly manner. "Ladies first."

He smirked kindly at his poor attempt to come across gentle. At least you wouldn't have to learn first hand of his capabilities. Or at least he hoped not. He didn't suspect you could handle that - being only a Mundy. He finally had a chance to prove himself, not only to you, but to himself as well. You didn't know him for centuries, like the others did. You didn't have to live with some death or damage he had caused, like the others did. He was a clean slate to you, and he wanted to keep it that way.

"So kind," you noted aloud, purring, "Such a gentleman."


	2. The Night Air

The night air was solid. 

A thick, undeniable presence restlessly followed as you walked the streets of Fabletown with Bigby by your side. The streets were dark - or as dark as they could be when dim streetlights beamed down a blazoned trail of light every few meters, causing the luminosity of the world to be lit up, illuminated with a burnt amber colour, before it was plunged into darkness when you both had left the sweeping gaze of the old, archaic lamplight. 

The entire feel of these streets – this place – felt alive and buzzing with energy. It felt different - far different than a place inhabited by Mundys - humans. You just left it down to the fact that an ancient magic was forever at work in this part of town. 

It was late - sometime before eleven - and although you had lost track of time, you couldn’t be certain, because a watch was something you had never found yourself wearing. 

Whenever you chanced a sideways glance at him, Bigby would always have a cigarette hanging from his mouth, dryly inhaling and causing the end of it to flare up a brilliant tawny colour, before it would slowly dwindle away. He could feel your eyes upon him, though he took no notice. You were, after all, still getting used to the fact that everything you saw was enchanted, and the people were those of legends. So he didn't mind the staring. He knew you meant no disrespect. 

"Hey..." 

Your voice seemed to stir up the very essence of magic surrounding the both of you, as it cut through the thick silence. 

He turned his head, dark eyes meeting yours, his expression blank. 

"How come you always smoke?" 

You asked innocently, but he turned away. His strides slowed so you were both at a more comfortable pace and after a length of silence from him that made you feel as if you shouldn't have asked, he finally spoke. 

"It's hard to explain," he mumbled, taking in another deep breath of the toxic fumes and gazing off down the street. "If I don't smoke as often as I do, I'd go crazy all the time." 

His matter-of-face expression had you drawing back in confusion, your face a mixture of light disturbance and fascination as you crinkled your nose at his loose answer. He laughed inwardly when he caught your reaction from his peripheral vision, stepping closer to you as you both walked - whether or not he did it on purpose escaped him. He quickly decided to elaborate to save you from thinking ill of him. 

"I have a heightened sense of smell. One of the perks of being a wolf, I suppose," he chuckled darkly, albeit, with a somewhat regretful undertone. "If I don't smoke, I constantly smell everything around me. It's overwhelming. The intensity of the cigarette smell helps dull it all." 

You hummed in thought. 

"Being able to smell everything..." you murmured thoughtfully. "What can you smell right now?" 

He took the cigarette away from his mouth, holding it down in his hands and breathed in the night air slowly, painfully slowly. 

All you could smell was... air. 

"Hm," he hummed. "Your shampoo smells like something tropical-" _your favourite shampoo was passionfruit_ "-and your perfume is sweet, but it's faded a bit..." he trailed off, before murmuring quietly, "what you smell like now is more your _natural scent_..." 

You awkwardly spared a thought towards that idea that he was telling you that you smelled of sweat, but tossed the idea out of the way quickly as you watched him frown. 

"And I can smell the seven rounds of silver bullets you hold in your desert eagle, strapped tightly to your thigh within easy reach." 

It startled you how good he was. And it startled you how guilty you felt. You had the silver bullets custom made in case things in Fabletown went to shit... in case you would need to defend yourself. In case he turned on you... 

"We should keep moving," he interrupted. 

"Yeah," you mumbled. 

Dust along the sidewalk was kicked up into the night air as you walked further and deeper into the abyss of this new world. Feeling like you would soon become lost if you didn't stick close to the Sheriff, smoothly your footsteps brought you closer to the wolf. In another life, it would be impossible to imagine that you would be keeping time with a ferocious animal, walking side-by-side with the beast. Your other self would have told you to turn and run. But yourself in this life minded little of the dangers. You thought that there weren't any. 

Shattering the peaceful tranquillity of the darkness surrounding the both of you in an instant, a shrill call sounded out from Bigby's back pocket. Startled himself, the wolf fumbled to retrieve his cell phone, glanced at the caller, before flipping it open, and harshly barking down the line - almost as if he himself was pissed that the comfortable silence the two of you were sharing had been obnoxiously broken. 

"What?" he growled. 

You could briefly make out the hurried and pissed tone that cawed through the phone Bigby had loosely pressed to his ear. 

"Bigby, --shit!-- mate, listen--" 

"What's going on, Toad?" 

Toad? Another Fable. _Interesting..._

" _You need_ to get down here _right now_ ," the voice called. 

"Why, what's happening?" Bigby's face turned serious as a calm and almost hostile expression dawned on his features. 

"It's the Woodsman!" 

The Woodsman? Where had you heard that name before? You noticed Bigby visibly tense, and you could have sworn you heard him growl at the mention of the name. 

"What's he doing?" 

"Bigby-" 

You heard a crashing sound, loud enough to come through the connection of the phone. 

"-Shit, mate, hurry up, this arsehole's tearing up the place!" 

"I'm on my way." 

And with that, Bigby snapped the cell phone shut, his eyes finding yours with such force, you felt a need to step back. 

"You ready?" he asked. A mere question asking if you were ready to leave, simple enough, but it sounded - to you - as if he meant if you were ready to handle a situation of this calibre - one that, admittedly, was far out of your depth. As if he asked if you were _really_ ready, and if not, that would be okay. 

And that's exactly how he meant it to be heard. 

It's just you brushed off the deeper meaning of his question as over-thinking a simple situation. 

"As ready as I'll ever be," you grinned, nodded firmly, eyes resolute as you stared back at him. 

He nodded. 

"Toad lives in the Bronx, you ever been there before?" he asked. 

"Nope, any quick pointers?" You made light of an increasingly heavy situation. 

"Stay close." 

Then he turned his back on you, striding off down the street. 

And you simply stared, mouth slightly ajar, your face flushing and a dusty pink colour rising on your cheeks as you were left to pad after your companion.


	3. The Assessment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know if you enjoy it ~~

Silence and still air. The stale kind of atmosphere clung to your skin and stuck around in the back of the yellow Taxi cab Bigby had called. 

His body was a mere shadow out of the corner of your eye, as the darkness of the car swallowed the both of you and left nothing distinguishable except a mere outline of your being. Every-so-often, the passing of a street light would illuminate the car. The bright flickers of orange would show the worn and decaying black leather of the seats, the crappy little 'air-freshener' strung around the interior mirror that had long since stopped working and had most likely been forgotten by the Taxi driver. The orange would show Bigby, as his hand ran over his face and he allowed his head to rest on his palm. 

You looked the other way, and for a long time, would not concentrate on your own breathing, but on the sound of _his_. Buildings passed by and you would try but nevertheless forget their architecture in favour of watching for the slight and rare movements the man beside you made. You were completely and utterly fascinated by him. Though you had no idea why. 

Due to your train of though wandering off and leaving you far behind, you didn't notice when the Taxi pulled up to the curb and stopped. You had arrived at Toads tenement buildings. Bigby stepped out, and, when he didn't hear you follow, turned back around and leaned down into the cab. 

"You coming?" he asked, his face blank. 

With a swift kick out of your own fantasies, you shot Bigby a look, one that clearly stated 'of-course-I'm-coming-you-can-stop-asking-now' before you swung open the cab door, and stepped out into the fresh night air. 

The cab fare was paid for, and off into the night it drove. 

Bigby lit up yet another cigarette as you stood in the middle of the road (it was quiet enough, with no cars and no living people about) and waited for the wolf to join you. He was looking down at a white sheet of paper, and you shoved your hands into the pockets of your blazer, feeling the chill of the wind. Didn't the weather guy on the radio say it was supposed to be 'muggy' out? 

You shrugged off the temperature as merely your minds reaction to the apprehension and excitement that was swimming in your body. 

"Which building again?" you called over your shoulder, throwing a look the Sheriffs way. 

"This one," Bigby pointed to a building across the street, adding, "251, Tenement building, South Bronx." 

You sighed as you tossed a look toward to the dilapidated apartment block Bigby had pointed out. The glare of the streetlights made it look worse than it seemed, highlighting every crack and fracture the building possessed. Graffiti vandalized the front walls, and trash cans littered the sidewalk space at it's doorstep. 

"It's a piece of shit, I know," Bigby added from the darkness beside you, voicing your exact thoughts. You merely grinned, eyes finding the night sky above. 

"It's late," you suddenly called. "What time is it?" 

"Sometime after midnight, I guess," Bigby answered, taking the initiative and crossing the street and over the threshold into the building. You followed, hot on his tail as Bigby put his hand on the brass door handle. The old door protested, but creaked open, boarded up windows preventing you from seeing inside. Who the hell would stay here? As Bigby stepped to the side, hand still on the door as he held it for you - allowing you entrance - your eyes became immediately fixated on a three-foot-toad you saw, with his back to you, swinging on the staircase. 

"Mr. Toad," Bigby greeted, his hulking form looming towards the small amphibian. 

"Bigby!" the apparent 'Mr. Toad' greeted back, though it seemed a little strained. "Listen mate, I know I don't look human. It's a problem, I get it, I just stepped out the apartment for a second to see what kind of damage this drunk shit is doing." 

As soon as you made your presence known - a small and abrupt cough which landed you the attention of both the wolf and the frog - Bigby grumbled a short and snappy introduction. 

"Toad, this is Miss. (Last_Name), she's the Human/Fable Relations Officer." 

"Yeah, I saw her today," Toad pointed out. He must have been at the meeting earlier. 

"It's nice to properly meet you," you smiled faintly, and without a bat of an eyelid, added, "Where's your Glamor?" 

The Toad visibly squirmed. 

"Just cut me a break, yeah?" The plea was directed more at Bigby than it was at you. "I'll get me Glamor first thing in the morning, promise." 

Bigby simply stared (or was it a glare?) at the animal, in that incredibly intimidating, speak-the-wrong-way-and-you'll-die type demeanor. 

"Cross my heart," Toad added. 

"I'm looking at a three-foot Toad," Bigby grumbled, waving his cigarette, "In a sweater. That's a problem." 

You crossed your arms, mimicking the wolf as you stared at the Toad. 

"I could book you for that," you murmured, voice going unheard. 

"If you can't afford to look human, you're going to the farm. It's as simple as that," Bigby purred. 

"You can't send me up to live with those animals!" Toad begged, clearly forgetting that he - in fact - actually was an animal. 

Bigby gave him an incredulous look. You quirked a brow and breathed a laugh at the irony of the situation. The Toad caught your expression. 

"You know what I mean!" he whined. 

"Go see a witch," Bigby's tone was suddenly serious. "Get a Glamor." 

While Bigby continued lecturing Toad on the importance of not getting caught without glamour, you took the opportunity to allow your gaze to wander as you moved to get a better look at the entrance hall of the apartments. You ghosted around Bigby, your shoulder brushing against his back as you went to check out some loose papers that had been long forgotten and crumpled into the cracked marble flooring. Bigby didn't even tense at the contact. He simply acknowledged your presence by allowing his eyes to trail after you, lazily watching Toad as he stole glances at your figure bending and scooping up some kind of leaflet that had been left on the floor. 

There was the unmistakable sound of glass breaking that came from upstairs suddenly. The abrupt loud noise caused you to drop the piece of parchment, the stained and off-white document floated lazily to the ground as you retraced your steps back to the wolf. Unconsciously, you stood closer to him than before - out of the sheer need for protection. 

You begged for protection from the wolf. 

"I don't make the rules, sorry," Bigby's voice floated into your intense concentration on the hallway at the top of the stairs. The wolf noticed your unease and made a mental note to come off more concerned, as he finished, "I can't give you a free pass on this Toad, my hands are tied." 

"Right, right," Toad sighed, shaking his head. 

"There's too much at stake. Whatever it costs, it's worth it." 

Your eyes landed on the small amphibian again, and then darted to the hulk of a man _(half-man?)_ beside you as his expression turned stony. 

"You don't want me catching you out of Glamor again," he growled. 

Without warning, the sound of glass breaking was heard from above and you darted your gaze to the ceiling - too late. A loud crash was heard from outside on the streets and you jumped forward, twisting your body to stare, wide-eyed at a TV which had been thrown from the window above. Pieces of glass littered the street, and you clutched your heart from the fright. Without a seconds though, you let your guard down. 

"Fucking hell!" you managed to choke out (in perfect sync with Toad), sighing at a calm - and if not slightly amused - Bigby who let out a small chuckle at your frantic state. 

"See! This is what I called you about Sheriff," Toad pointed out, hands on his hips. Bigby merely glanced over his shoulder and took a brief look at the poor TV before glancing at you. 

"You just gonna stand there?" Toad piped up again. "Do something Bigby! Before he completely tears up the place!" 

Toad glanced at Bigby, who merely shrugged past him, making his way up the stairs, leaving you to offer the Toad an awkward smile before hurrying after the Sheriff. 

Once on the landing, you heard it. The raised voice of a man, the dead-tone of a pay-phone that had been hung up on the other end - click, then dead air. What was left was simple the angry voice of the man, shouting abuse at an unknown third party. 

"HEY!" 

You heard it _through the walls_. 

"You're gonna know who I fucking am, you hear me?!" It was muffled, but the voice was filled with rage. "Hey! Look at me!" 

You're body tensed when you heard a woman's plea. 

"Just, stop! Okay? You're drunk!" 

You and Bigby exchanged worried looks in silence when you heard the unmistakable sound of something being _struck_. You had never heard anything like this before, and it was an entirely new ordeal for you. Your stress levels were at an all time high, and hearing this was pushing them too far... 

"Let go!" the woman shouted. 

"Take a look! Take a good look! Know who I am now?! Look at me!" 

You had no idea what was going on. Your body had begun to tremble and what's worse is that you had no control over it. You had no idea what was happening, or how to control it. Nerves... anticipation... fear? You wrung your hands together in an attempt to steady your feelings, to remain professional and not allow your feelings to swallow you in a situation such as this. You didn't even need to glance down to feel the weight of your gun almost double. The thick band of the holster seemed to squeeze itself into your thigh, hissing at you to remove it and use the gun to steady yourself. Perhaps you shouldn't have listened. 

But you did. 

Sliding your hands closer to your gun, you wanted an unwavering feeling of protection to steady your fear. Like a nervous twitch, you reached to draw the weapon, close to tears. 

Suddenly, Bigby's hand was over your own, pushing the gun back into it's resting place. He had been watching you ever since your foot crossed the threshold of the staircase onto the first floor. He had watched you become quickly swallowed by your own anxiety and fears, opting for the _wrong_ form of protection, when _he_ was right beside you. 

You blinked once, twice. 

The hand you had used to attempt to draw your gun was now swallowed by Bigbys. You stared down at his hand, then slowly up to his face. 

"Stop," he breathed, almost too softly for the man he was rumoured to be. 

You opened your mouth to protest, but no words came to your saviour. 

"You're fine. You don't need it. Not so long as I'm here, you understand? I'm here, and you're fine." He was hunched over, hand now squeezing yours, face close to yours. "Just relax, you're doing fine," he whispered. 

You were totally taken aback by the pure gentleness of the act - one that contradicted everything about his nature. The sounds of the world around the two of you groaned to a halt and the only thing you heard was his voice. Your body slowly relaxed and you no longer felt the need to cry. 

"I-I'm fine..." 

The statement came out as more of a question. 

"You're fine," he repeated. 

"I'm okay," you stood up straight, and steadied yourself. "I'm good," you nodded, feeling more relaxed as each second passed. "Okay, I'm fine, let's do this." 

He gave you a knowing look as he released your hand and took a step back. 

"No, really, this time I am fine," you answered his intense gaze. Brushing down your uniform, you patted your Desert Eagle. "Don't need you. Not anymore," you whispered to your gun, reminding yourself of Bigby's words. 

_You don't need it. Not so long as I'm here._

You turned to the wolf who was still watching you. 

"Thank you," you nodded to him, feeling slightly embarrassed. 

"Anytime."


	4. The Altercation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter!  
> Please let me know if you're enjoying the story so far - I think this is going to be my first really long fic and I hope everyone is enjoying it so far... I don't really know if I'm characterising Bigby well enough (or any of the characters for that matter) and I don't know whether the bond between the reader and Bigby is developing well...   
> Any feedback would be greatly appreciated my lovelies! <3

"So, how are we going to approach this?" 

"Well," you stared at the wooden door, contemplating the situation, fingers running through your hair in thought, you sighed, "there is always the eloquent way. You know, knocking? It's polite to knock..." you trailed off. 

The wolf noticed. 

"But?" he pressed, curious to know where this was going. Both of you stood, about a foot apart, bodies facing the closed door that would have to be opened somehow - and preferably in the next few seconds. 

" _But_ I do like to make an entrance," you sighed, a mischievous smirk finding its way onto your face, "and _kicking_ the door down does sound appealing," you glanced over at a slightly worried Bigby. 

One second you were fearful of a little scrap and the next second you wanted to launch into one... 

"Plus, if we kick the door down, the attacker inside knows we mean business," you smiled at the Sheriff, almost _too_ sweetly. The wolf tried to reason with you. 

"I don't think that's a good idea-" 

"ARGH!" 

Too late. 

With a swift, deft movement, you launched a well-placed and powerful kick to the wooden door, causing it to fly open without warning and slam into the wall inside, a few bits of loose wood flying off from the sheer force of your attack. In the midst of your proud moment, you heard Bigby sigh exasperatedly from behind you. When your eyes focused on the room in front of you, a large and muscular man held his fist high above a bloody and bruised women. 

"Goddamn you!" he yelled, letting his fist fall and collide with her face. She stumbled backwards from the pain, and Bigby shoved past you as you gasped at this mans show of brutality. 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hey, HEY!" Bigby launched himself at the attacker, forcing him back into a shelf. "Alright, what's going on here-" 

The man abruptly headbutted the Sheriff, causing him to stumble backwards. You made a move to step forward, but stopped short when the wolf held out an arm to stop you. A small trickle of blood was wiped quickly from Bigby's face by the back of his hand as he stood straight. 

"What are you gonna fuckin' do? Huh?" he spat, regaining his balance. "Get the fuck out of the way before you get the axe again!" 

"This is your last warning, Woody," Bigby growled, and you noticed how he maneuvered his body ever-so-slightly to block you from the view of the Woodsman. 

"Is that a fact?" the Woodsman asked. 

"Yeah, that's a fact," Bigby answered. The Woodsman grinned as he shook his head. 

"Hey, let's all just calm down for one second!" you yelled over the men, trying to diffuse the heated situation – but you were promptly ignored. 

"You've got a shit fuckin' memory, Wolf. That's not how it went last time." 

"This isn't last time," Bigby spat through clenched teeth. 

Suddenly, both men erupted into a fight, a flurry of punches were thrown and Bigby managed to dodge every one, ducking and sliding out of the way of heavy hooks. You backed into a nearby wall, eyes wide and mouth open, trying your best to keep up. The fight was brutal, and the punches being thrown were violent and powerful - getting hit by a blow from either one of these men would have a Mundy like you out cold for a week. 

Within seconds, Bigby had the upper hand - quite literally - as he twisted the Woodsman's arm and hooked it up his back. 

"You gonna calm down now?" he asked, shoving the man with excessive force into a nearby sofa, causing it to topple over with his weight. Bigby strolled over to the sofa, purring, "Had enough?" 

But the Woodsman was quick to stand and kick the sofa, sliding it into Bigby, who stumbled backwards. Bigby's attacker got to his feet and vaulted the sofa clean. 

"At least make this a fuckin' challenge," he growled, grabbing fistfuls of the wolf's shirt and holding him high above the ground. 

"Bigby!" you called, worried for his safety. 

The wolf tossed you a glance before he swiftly punched the Woodsman in the throat, causing the man to release him with a choked yelp. Soon, the dog had the upper hand again, tossing the Woodsman around the room and into various items of furniture, throwing punches and landing kicks... until the larger man picked up a heavy axe, defiantly swinging it straight at the Wolf's body. The blade stuck in the floor and Bigby managed to grab the neck of the weapon, both men struggling to gain full access of the axe. Finally, Bigby was able to yank the weapon from the grasp of the Woodsman and slam it into his stomach, bringing the man to his knees, as another blow from Bigby left the man with a broken jaw. 

There was a thick silence for a long time, and at one point, you thought your legs were going to give way from under you. Bigby, who was panting hard, tossed the axe to the floor, letting it clang loudly and then remain forgotten. Your frame remained weak from having to stare as a silent spectator during the fight, and now, you had to force yourself to speak. 

"Is...is it over?" 

"No," Bigby bluntly responded, "he's still alive." 

The wolf turned to the girl, who was casually fixing her makeup like nothing had happened. 

"You... should probably get out of here," he gestured to the door. 

"Look, I'm not leaving until I get what's _mine_ ," she responded forcefully. 

"You're not getting _shit_ , bitch," the woodsman slurred from his position on the floor, his broken jaw making it difficult to speak. 

"Say that word _one more time_ ," Bigby's voice became dangerous as he loomed over the larger man. 

"What? Bitch?" 

His only response was a swift kick to the face and the man yelled out in pain. You grimaced. 

" _What_ did I say?" Bigby reminded. 

"You fucker," the Woodsman grumbled, rubbing a hand over his chin, spitting out blood as he continued, "you broke my jaw, you _bastard_!" 

The sheriff sighed. "And still you talk," he grumbled. 

The shock from the recent ordeal must have been written plainly on your face, as Bigby cast you a glance first. 

"You alright?" he asked, warily. 

"Fine, fine," you muttered, eyes trailing to rest on the floor. 

Bigby seemed unconvinced, but he turned his attention to the... _woman_ beside you. 

"What the hell is going on? What happened?" he pressed. 

The woman was still focused on her reflection in her compact when she answered. 

"A little misunderstanding that turned into a real shit show," she mumbled, looking up. "Don't worry. You saw all the best bits." 

"There's more where that came from, _girlie_ ," the Woodsman piped up from his position on the floor. 

"Knock it off!" Bigby tossed over his shoulder. 

"Look, this is just the start of a shitty night for me. I just need the money he owes me, and then I can go," she explained. 

"Are you alright now?" you asked, piping up for the first time. 

The woman turned to you, her black eye now more noticeable since the fight. 

"I'm hunky dory. Thanks for asking," she grumbled sarcastically. 

"What's your name?" Bigby asked. 

"Whatever you'd like it to be handsome," the woman purred. 

Suddenly, you felt a raw twinge of an emotion you couldn't name streak through you. 

"Don't make this more difficult than it has to be," the sheriff grumbled. 

"Sorry, Sheriff. Wouldn't want to add any difficulty to your night," she spoke sarcastically, eying the _already_ difficult situation at hand. 

"Why was he hitting you?" you asked, coming to stand shoulder to shoulder with Bigby. 

"He asked me if I recognized him... knew who he was... I said I didn't. He started beating on me. Then you showed up, started beating on him," she mused, uninterested in the situation. Her eyes flickered to you as she sighed, "that about cover it, hun?" 

"I'm the Woodsman you _whore_ ," said man grumbled from the floor. "I saved little red riding hood from this... _monster_... I cut this fucker open... and filled his belly full of _stones_!" 

It might have just been your imagination, but you could faintly make out a growl rumbling from the throat of the sheriff. 

"I THREW HIM IN THE FUCKING RIVER! That's who the _fuck_ I am, you _stupid bitch_!" the Woodsman bellowed. 

"HEY! What did I say?!" Bigby spat back. "I said _be nice_ ," Bigby took a step forward, and you eyed him with caution. "Or you wait _outside_!" 

Without warning, the wolf lunged at the woodsman, tackling the man _straight out of the window_. 

"BIGBY!" you shouted. 

Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, _oh shit_! 

You ran to the gaping hole in the wall that had been created by the two men crashing through the window and peered down to the streets below. Shards of glass and broken window frame lay haphazardly scattered around a limp Bigby who was crumpled on top of a nearby car, with the Woodsman not visible in your line of sight. 

And your visible line of sight consisted of Bigby - and only Bigby - who looked as if he was _dead_. 

You clamped a hand over your mouth as you choked out a muffled yell and a pained noise, and, without thinking, you turned on the spot and sprinted as fast as was humanly possible for your legs. Out of the room, down the stairs, skidding past a cursing Toad and flying out of the front door, hoping to god that he _wasn't dead_ and that he _hadn't left you_ in this godforsaken place _on your own_.


	5. The Street Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed so far - I love you all <3

It was the frantic tugging of his sleeve that made him stir, and a voice that was new but one he remembered well. The streetlight above him flickered lazily and he noted that it was still dark, so he couldn't have been out long. 

"Bigby?!" a voice yelled, somewhere to his left. 

He groaned, shifting his weight. 

"Bigby! Oh my God, you're alive-!" 

"Well, we wouldn't be lucky enough for him to be dead," a second voice grunted from somewhere lower down, but it was promptly silenced by an annoyed growl from the voice of the first. 

He turned his head to the side, and saw you, looking a little dishevelled but otherwise in bright spirits thanks to him " _not being dead_ " - as you put it. 

"Bigby, my _fucking car_ ," Toad groaned, as you reached out a hand for the Sheriff to pull himself up with. 

"Yeah," he winced at a sudden pain that shot through his side from his fall, coughing, "Sorry about that." 

As he jumped down from the car, he stumbled slightly – nothing serious - but enough to cause you concern. Your fingers gripped his shoulder and your eyes filled with worry. He waved a hand in dismissal at your look. 

_'I'm fine'_ he motioned. You gave him a look. 

_'You don't seem fine...'_ you scowled. 

"Oh, you're bleeding," you realise, staring at the smeared blood around his nose and mouth. Without thinking, you pulled down the sleeve of your blazer and brought it up to his nose. "Here, hold still," you murmur, tongue coming out between your teeth in concentration as you dab at his face to mop up the bleeding. He does as he's told, awkwardly leaning down to give you better access to his face. 

"Next time you want to launch yourself out of a window," you murmur, wiping away the last remnants of blood, "just... don’t," you grinned, steadying him. He hummed in acknowledgement. 

"Well," Toad interrupted, "At least _you're_ not fucking dead." 

You turned to him, and realised a little too late that he was looking _past_ and _behind_ you. 

The next thing you knew, you had been shoved with such force that your body collided with the metal railings behind you, the air forced out your lungs in a heavy gasp as you crumpled to the floor in pain. You couldn't move from the sheer amount of agony that was rushing through your body, as you slouched limply against the railings, vision blurring in and out of focus. You made a movement to stand, to lean forward, to do _something_ but a sharp twinge of stabbing pain stopped you from doing pretty much anything except sit against the dented railings and look pathetic. 

You glanced to the side, and watched as the Woodsman – who was somehow _not even slightly injured_ from falling out a window – held Bigby above him by the throat, squeezing the man's neck as Bigby tried and failed to get his attacker off him. 

"I _know_ you're _fucking in there_!" the Woodsman yelled, and you watched Bigby struggle, his hands pulling at the Woodsman's in a desperate attempt for the man to let go. 

"Come on out you _fucking dog_!" 

"Big..by," you breathed, feeling like you should lift your arm out towards him, and you tried – you really did – but the pain was the only thing your mind could hold onto and it prevented you from doing anything of substance. You realised if you didn't do something soon, the Woodsman would seriously hurt Bigby – like he had done to you – and so you pushed everything that screamed at you not to move to the furthest parts of your mind and rocked your body onto your knees. You wobbled, but managed to stand, wincing hard as you held onto the railing for support. 

"I'll put you out of your misery!" you heard the Woodsman yell, watching his muscles tense and strain with the effort to strangle Bigby. "And then I'll do the same to that human girlfriend of yours!" 

_'No... leave him... alone...'_

You took a step forward, letting go of the railings as you took another step. 

"You fucking _mongrel_! You ignorant _fuck_!" 

"Leave him..." you gasped, grabbing your stomach for support. 

"Come on out-!" 

"L-leave him alone!" you yelled, the pressure of your voice caused you to choke out a ragged breath in pain. "Let him go, leave him alone!" 

But the Woodsman never stopped, not until Bigby's eyes turned a malicious shade of golden, and only then did you realise that the woman from before, the one filled with bruises and cuts, had carried the Woodsman's own axe from the rented room and swung it into the back of his head. 

You could do nothing but stare as the man finally let go of Bigby's throat, and slid down to the ground limply, the axe still prominently in his skull. 

Bigby took in a breath, his hands on his knees for support and shook his head, ridding himself of his desire to change and loosing the yellow glint in his eyes at the same time. 

"Ah," he finally said. "Thanks." 

The woman gave him a brief nod, before turning and kneeling down beside the Woodsman, frisking him for any loose change that he owed her. As soon as she had knelt down, Bigby was able to get a good look at you for the first time since the Woodsman had thrown you like a rag-doll into the metal railings and left you in a slumped heap. His eyes went wide when he saw you standing and clutching your body and drawing in a ragged breath, and he immediately made a move towards you... until you held up a hand to stop him. 

"I'm... fine," you spoke through clenched teeth, the pain in your body still raw. "Concentrate on _him_ ," you jerked your head to the Woodsman on the floor, who was being frisked by the previously axe-wielding girl. 

"Urgh, _great_ ," she groaned, counting the coins she had found in the Woodsman's pocket before throwing them to the concrete in anger. She glanced up at Bibgy suddenly. "You alright back there? I mean... your eyes... and the teeth... you're not really supposed to do that are you?" 

"Not if I can avoid it," he answered, shaking his head. "Sorry, can you excuse me for one second?" 

"Sure, go ahead," the girl waved, putting her foot on the hilt of the axe and pressing the weapon further into the Woodsman's skull, taking out her frustrations on him. Bigby rolled his eyes, but made his way over to you, who had taken the liberty to sit down on someone's door steps. 

"Hey," he greeted warily, concerned with how you would react depending on how much pain you were in. 

"Hey yourself," you winced, smiling up at him. He smiled back, relieved that you didn't seem to be in too-bad of a shape. 

"You alright? I mean, that shove he gave you really sent you flying-" 

"I'm _human_ ," you reminded him. "I hurt at lot easier than you guys, apparently." 

"Well, we'll need to get you to a doctor, I think," he scratched his chin, offering you a hand. You took it gently, watching Bigby maneuver to hold you carefully, one arm around your waist, the other propped against your hip in a strong, yet strangely soft manner. You inhaled sharply when he readjusted his grip slightly. 

"My... ribs," you gasped. "I think they're-" 

"Broken, yeah, they are," Bigby finished. You tossed him an incredulous look. "I heard them crack when he threw you... uh... against the-" 

"It's fine, I just need some painkillers," you interjected. "Or a hard drink." 

"I think we're going to stick with seeing _a doctor_ first," he pressed. You sighed as best you could. 

"Hey," Bigby suddenly called after the woman who had begun to walk away. "Wait a second-" 

"I don't have all night, Sheriff," she responded dryly, eyeing how Bigby was having to physically drag you around because walking on your own was too much of a hassle. She sighed, trying and failing to light her cigarette. 

You pushed Bigby lightly on the chest, signalling that it was okay for him to alleviate himself as your support so he could talk to the woman with more ease. He hesitated briefly, but a sharp look of annoyance from you had him letting go of you quicker than he had leaped out of that window minutes before. 

"Here," he offered when he stood before the woman, bringing out his own lighter and giving her the flame, which she gratefully accepted as you brought yourself to lean against Toad's crumpled car. 

_Smoking is bad for your health..._ you mentally grumbled, the pain making you bitter. 

The woman took a long drag, puffing out the white smoke and watching it wisp away into the dark air. There were a few moments where Bigby simply stared at her, before he spoke. 

"Who do you work for, really?" he asked, a soft tone in his voice. The woman looked to the floor, before frowning. 

"These lips are sealed... sorry," she answered, leaning against the wall behind her. Bigby stepped closer to her, and she raised her eyes up to him. "Hey," she hummed, "you like my ribbon?" 

She was, of course, referring to the purple lace wound delicately around her neck. 

"Beautiful," Bigby hummed, giving the woman a small smile. 

"Thank you..." she murmured, a little sadness glinted in her eyes. 

"I feel like we've met before..." Bigby wondered aloud. The woman took another drag from her cigarette. 

"We probably have. We all sort of knew each other at one point or another... but things change I guess." 

"I guess..." Bibgy echoes. 

You felt a strong wave of isolation and sadness grip your heart. She was right. All of the people in this town – all of the _fables_ \- they all know each other somehow, whether it's from their stories interlinking throughout time or from their encounters with one another. All except you. You are by very fault and definition, an _outsider_. You will not and will never know any of these fables as well as they know each other. And that fact makes you feel a strange sense of solitude. 

You are far too bound within your own thoughts to notice Bigby glance at you as he turns to check on the Woodsman (who has came to, and wandered off somewhere, _much_ to his annoyance). You are frowning down at pavement, with an expression he thinks doesn't suit you. 

He walks past you, you notice, and stops. You turn as best you can to glance at what he could be staring at, and realise that the Woodsman is _gone_. 

"Ah-!" you make a noise of surprise, standing now. "I-I never even noticed him move!" 

"Shit," Bigby grumbled shaking his head before he whipped around - but a hand on his wrist stopped him from going any further. 

"Stop," the woman interrupts. "We don't have to make any more of a thing out of it than it already is." 

"But he hit you," you reason, standing beside Bigby, reflexively gripping your own ribs as the woman gives you a meek look. 

"It's not just about you," Bigby starts, sighing, "I can't have him running around the city in the state he's in." 

"Good, because I was just starting to worry it was all about me," she mocks, smiling. You laugh softly at Bigbys oblivious attitude and words. 

"That's not what I mean," he reiterates. 

There is a moment of awkward silence where the pair stare at each other, before the woman realises she is still holding Bigby by the arm, and lets go, turning away. You watch her eyes go wide out of awkward realisation, and Bigby gives you a look when he sees you smile to yourself. 

"How much was it he owed ya?" Bigby asked, turning to face her. 

"A hundred," she shrugged. 

"And I'm guessing it would be bad for you to show up empty handed?" 

The woman pauses, only to turn slightly, and throw him a meek smile over her shoulder. 

"I'll be fine," she answers. 

"Let's see, I've got, uh," the sheriff pauses, reaching into his pocket to pull a small wad of cash out, and you were already right behind him, doing the same. He flicks the notes, counting, "Twenty, forty... seven – eight. Fifty eight-" 

"Seventy eight," you add, handing him your only twenty. "I didn't think I would have needed more than a twenty," you hum a laugh, smiling as you offer your money graciously. 

There is something raw and unnamed that pulls at Bigby when he looks at your happy face willingly helping without being asked. There is nothing being offered in return and yet you hand this woman the only money you have. 

"Uh, it's the only money we've got, but, it'll help, right?" Bigby asks, handing her the collective wad of both his and your money. 

"It's okay, I'll be fine," she presses, "You've done enough, really." 

"Take it," you press, giving her your best ' _I-promise-I'm-not-hurt, tis-but-a-flesh-wound'_ smile in the hopes that she would believe you weren't _that_ badly injured and take the money. 

She hesitates again, only briefly this time, before slowly taking the money, and tucking it within her bra, out of sight. That reminded you. 

"Oh, and here," you offered as you shrugged your blazer off your shoulders with much more difficulty than you had hoped, before handing it to the woman. "This will keep you warm until... you're inside again. I don't really need it, I'm kinda hot anyways," you smiled, watching her face turn utterly shocked, before she nodded, and grabbed your blazer from you, wrapping it around herself. 

"You got me out of a bad situation back there," she began. " _Both of you_ … thanks." 

"I'm still gonna need a statement," Bigby reminded her. 

_'Boorinngg..._ ' you think, rolling your eyes. 

"I have to go drop off... what I have," the woman explains. 

"Meet me back at my office then." 

"It's a little late for an office visit, Sheriff. I'll swing by your apartment," she suggests. 

There it was again. That twinge of jealously. 

"How do you know where I-" 

"You live in the smallest apartment in The Woodlands. Every one knows that," she explained. 

"Good to know," Bigby sighed. 

"You should get cleaned up. You look like shit," the woman noted, smiling, "And I don't use that term lightly. Some of these look pretty bad," she murmured, touching the wounds on his face 

"I clean up okay," Bigby reminded, smiling. 

"I'll believe that when I see it." 

The cool air of the summer's night brushed past you, and you watched the woman pull your blazer closer around her and you tried not to shiver – it would probably hurt your ribs. 

"Hey," the woman began. "I need to tell you something." 

"What is it?" the Sheriff asked. The woman leaned in close to Bigby, placing her hand on his shoulder as she whispered in his ear, just loud enough for you to catch. 

"You're not as bad as everyone says you are," she murmurs, kissing Bigby on the cheek, and you watched his expression change into one of slight shock, before it was quickly wiped from his features. 

The woman pulls away and walks past the both of you, throwing up a hand to wave goodbye without turning. 

"I'll see you around, miss (last name)... wolf." 

And with those final words, she is off again, into the night. You turn, after her figure is no longer visible, and catch the wolf staring at you. With a raise of your eyebrows, you speak. 

"What?" you ask, innocently. 

He says nothing, pulling out his packet of _'Huff and Puff'_ and tapping the bottom, biting the cigarette that pops up. Another stolen glance at you and he is quick to ignite the stick, inhaling and looking away. He shakes his head. 

"Right," he decided, his voice a deep rumble in the still night, "We need to go see a doctor." 

"Oh... yeah," you murmur, wondering how far into the night that will take you and how much of a burden on him you have already become. 

Bigby resumes his position by your side, saying nothing as he holds you sturdy and secure against his body, with one of your arms draped loosely around his neck, he holds your wrist, and with his other hand, it grips your waist. You begin walking at an awkward pace – unable to keep up with his strides as each step causes you pain. You turn to say something to him, but he abruptly looks away. You frown at his behaviour, but dismiss it as nothing. Perhaps the pain you are feeling causes you to overthink simple actions. 

You come to learn, however, much, much later, that this wolf has a weakness for _your scent_.


	6. The Doctor

It had been a while since you had _fallen asleep_ and left Bigby to _carry you_ the rest of the way to Dr. Swineheart's office. Of course, he didn't mind – you weighed next to nothing for him, and the rhythm of your heartbeat and steady breaths loud against him felt oddly comforting.

He was a fresh slate for you – somebody who knew nothing of what he was capable of, nor his cruel actions that will be forever carved into his past, acting as a grim reminder of what everyone knows him to be. You, however, knew him to be the Wolf from the stories and nothing more than perhaps the _man he could be_. Maybe it was the endless opportunities for him to show you what a decent man he really was - despite all his previous actions - that was the most comforting thing. Like, for instance, right now. You. Asleep against his back. Softly murmuring words as he carried you deeper into the night. You were so comfortable and entirely _not afraid_ that you had allowed sleep to take you and leave you entirely vulnerable to him. He found himself smiling. You had singlehandedly chosen to go against one of the biggest warnings that parents told their children; _"Beware the wolf in sheep's clothing."_ From now on, even if everyone in this town continued to hate him and want _nothing_ to do with him, at least there was you he could turn to.

Even if you forced him to adorn roles he wasn't very good at. Like right now, for example. You were making play the role of 'care giver' - something entirely foreign to him. Someone relying on him to keep them safe and tend to them when they were injured... it was a new experience, at least he could say that. And with you fast asleep against his back, arms limply dangling by his neck and your head resting on his shoulder, it kept him focused on the situation at hand - to get you treated as fast as possible... without waking you up.

He had never known anyone to fall asleep _whilst_ walking before, but you had given him a first, that's for sure. You mumbled something in your sleep that sounded strikingly similar to his name, followed by a few nonsense words, and he let out a breathy laugh.

"You sure are a lot of trouble, miss (last name)," he smirked, turning his head to toss you a look over his shoulder, which you clearly missed. He shook his head, climbing the stairs to the Doctor's office, before gently tapping the door with his foot. He would have knocked, but he was afraid if he let go of one of your legs, you would simply slide off his back.

The door opened seconds later, revealing the man in question, who seemed a little surprised when he focused on the two of you before him in the positions you were in.

"Ah, Sheriff," Swineheart greeted, "and the young Mundy girl. Is everything alright?"

"Hey, Doc.," Bigby greeted back, jerking his head towards you and grumbling, "Sorry for bothering you so late but... broken ribs, she thinks."

The man stood to the side and allowed Bigby entrance, shutting the door deftly behind him.

"You can place her down on the sofa over there," the doctor instructed, pointing. "If she does have broken ribs, she wont be asleep for long." He left the room for what Bigby could only assume was to retrieve his medical supplies, and the Sheriff took this time to place you down.

Bigby knelt down in front of the sofa as best he could, placing you gently onto the cushions and making sure you were sitting up, before his hand reached out to shake your shoulder – his way of waking you up. He had just wrapped his fingers around your arm, when you made a noise of discomfort. He halted his movements, becoming still. You frowned in your sleep, pursing your lips and the wolf simply stared at you – were you having a bad dream? Were you even dreaming at all? You mumbled something... something that sounded like a request – a plea, and squeezed your eyes tightly shut.

"No, please don't..." you whispered sleepily, your features becoming sad.

"(First name)?" Bigby called softly, his fingers tightened on your arm and he shook you slightly. "Uh, wake up, we're at Dr. Swine-"

"No, don't hurt Bigby," you pleaded sharply in your sleep, your face contorting with pain and fear. The wolf's eyes went wide, before he frowned, and, with much more force than before, shook you hard.

"Wake up," he barked.

Your eyes flew open immediately and you bolted upright, wincing hard at the sharp movement before frantically scanning your unfamiliar surroundings, calming slightly when you saw your wolf companion. Bigby frowned at you, but you noticed it seemed more like a scowl.

"You were asleep," he explains bluntly.

"Ah, that explains the rapid change of scenery," you laugh, yawning slightly.

"What were you dreaming about?"

"I'm not sure – can't remember," you stare at him, noticing his dark expression, pushing you to ask; "Is everything okay-?"

Without answering, he stands, and walks to the other side of the room, sitting himself down just as another man enters, carrying a tray full of what looked like medical tools. You sent Bigby a confused look, but he failed to catch it – seeing as he was looking the _other way_.

"Ah, Miss (last name)," the man greets, smiling warmly.

"Uhm, hello-?"

"This is Doctor Swineheart," Bigby explained half-heartedly from the other side of the room. "Fabletown's physician."

"Sorry, I couldn't hear you from all the way over there," you grumble, annoyed at his behaviour.

"I heard that," he quips.

You stick your tongue out childishly to no-one in particular, and you hear the Doctor laugh softly as he sorts his various tools out. The man before you leans into your face suddenly, shining a bright light into your eyes.

"So, Miss (last name)," he queries, taking a good look into both of your eyes, before placing his fingers on the inside of your wrist, checking your pulse. "What have we gotten ourselves into already?"

"Well... uhm," you awkwardly began, "The Sheriff and I were dealing-"

"The Woodsman threw her into some metal railings, and she sat there for about half an hour-"

"I can explain what happened _myself_ ," you cut Bigby off sharply, sending him an annoyed look. "I think my ribs are broken-"

"They are," Bigby muttered under his breath across the room and you thought about saying something, but dropped the idea as soon as it had crossed your mind. _What was wrong with him all of a sudden?_ Was it because he had a fight with The Woodsman? Was it because he had to carry you all the way here? Was it because you were interfering with his work? Was it because you -

"Okay, Miss (last name), I'm going to need you to remove your blouse."

"What?" you paled. _Your blouse. Remove. Bra. On show. With Bigby in the room_. "Uhm, actually I think I'm alright-"

"Would you be more comfortable if I asked Bigby to turn around?" the Doctor wondered aloud, noticing your awkwardness.

"Oh, no, it's nothing like that, I just-" you cut yourself short when you noticed Bigby scrape the chair he was resting on around by a full 180 degrees, twisting it and sitting so he was now glaring holes in the wall opposite him, leaving you to steal silent glances at his back. There was clearly something bothering him, but you knew better than to bring it up now, choosing to save your questions for later.

"Right," the Doctor started, waiting for you to undress yourself.

You made a slight noise of annoyance, before slowly unbuttoning your blouse, and shrugging the thin material off your shoulders... revealing your white, lace bra. You immediately turned a deep shade of pink from embarrassment, casting your eyes down to the floor and cursing your need for pretty and expensive lingerie.

“Ah, I can already see some bruises forming around your rib cage,” Doctor Swineheart noted, pressing his cold fingers against your body and examining your ribs. He noticed you shivering and apologised, feeling a certain rib that had you suppressing a cry to the back of your throat and squeezing your eyes shut tight.

“This here, it hurts?” he asked, pressing firmly against three of your ribs. You groaned, eyes darting up to his as you nodded frantically. “I see... and what about here?” he did the same thing on the other side, thumbing certain ribs in certain places that had you feeling all sorts of pain.

“Y-yeah, that hurts too,” you confirmed, unaware of how Bigby _wasn’t smoking_ – not because this was a doctors office and not because he felt obligated _not to smoke in a place such as this_ \- but because he wanted to be fully aware of your feelings at this moment. He wanted to detect even the _slightest_ change in your emotions, from the amount of perspiration that lightly coated your skin to the amount of _fear_ you were releasing, which, at the moment, was relatively low. He wanted to know how worried you were, how anxious, how confused, how overwhelmed you felt so he could do his best to _combat_ those feelings.

“Mr. Bigby,” Doctor Swineheart interrupted the wolf’s thoughts, coming to stand beside Bigby’s chair, until the Sheriff stood. The Doctor lowered his voice leaning in to the wolf who was back to watching you struggle to shrug on your blouse – until he realised you were partially exposed and then he nearly broke his neck when he looked away so sharply.

“So...?” Bigby started, glancing at Swineheart.

“Yes, Miss (last name) has broken her ribs – six of them to be precise, in multiple places, and two are fractured,” the doctor explained quietly so you didn't hear him. “If we treat her conventionally, she’ll need rest and no strenuous physical activities for the next month or two.”

He paused.

Bigby noticed.

“You said that was the conventional way... what about the unconventional way?” Bigby asked quietly, stealing yet another glance at you, who had taken the time to become busy surveying an ornamental model of the human heart with slight fascination and wide eyes.

“We _could_ treat her as if she were a fable... give her one of the fast repair serums and she would be as good as new tomorrow. Of course, this hasn’t been done before and we don’t know how her body will react to such strong healing potions. Her body may become overwhelmed and react accordingly, though there is really no way to tell unless we give her the serum. There are, however, moral and ethical dilemmas to consider –"

“Yeah, give her the drug,” Bigby interrupted, sensing the pain radiating from your injuries and how you were simply putting on a brave face. "She'll be fine as long as you give her the serum."

The doctor fell silent for a brief moment, studying the look in Bigby's eyes, before turning and making his way back to you, who smiled at him when he approached.

"So...?" you asked, waiting for your prognosis.

"Just some slight bruising around your ribs, miss (last name)," he ~~lied~~ _explained_ , opening one of the cabinets in the room and from it, pulled a small vile containing clear liquid. He thought it best if you perhaps didn't know the true extent of your injuries. With a syringe, he extracted the fluid from the vile and brought it up to your arm, lifting the sleeve of your blouse. When you made a face, turning your head quickly to Bigby for help, Swineheart decided to explain, "For the pain."

You nodded - albeit reluctantly - and allowed him to inject you, before relaxing back into the sofa as the man removed the syringe from your arm and retreated to place the vile back into the cabinet. You chanced a glance at the Sheriff, who was scratching his stubble, caught in his own thoughts.

"There we go, miss (last name), you should be feeling much better in a few minutes."

"Is that it? I can leave now?" you asked.

"Yes, that's it, you can leave now," the Doctor confirmed, smiling.

You stood, thanking him shortly, and headed for the door - but not before Bigby reached it first. He yanked it open, tossing a word of gratitude over his shoulder and leaving you to pad after him out into the hall and down the stairs.

"I'm feeling much better now," you began, hoping to start some form of conversation with him. "Uhm, thanks for carrying me all the way here as well, it must have been a pain," you laughed awkwardly.

Still nothing from him. You frowned as you reached the bottom of the stairs, passing through the door to the building easily when Bigby opened it much further than he needed to.

"Uhm," you began awkwardly, catching up to him. "Is there something wrong? You were fine with me until just a minute ago-"

He stopped abruptly, and you had a hard time not running into his broad back. He pulled his cigarettes from within his pocket, and flicked out his lighter. You walked round to face him full on, and noticed he was avoiding your curious gaze.

"Maybe you shouldn't get so attached to me," Bigby sighed, taking a sharp inhale from his cigarette and staring over you. "Probably for the better," he added as a mere afterthought.

"Maybe you shouldn't tell me what to do," you forced, glaring up at him. "It's not really up to you whether I choose to care about you or not."

Of course those weren't the words you wanted to say. Something along the lines of; _"It's not really up to you to decide how I act"_ was what you had planned to say, but between a rush of memories painting Fables that treated him like he was some kind of monster, and your emotions which told you he was _everything but a monster_ , your words had become scrambled in your brain, and your heart had taken over.

He said nothing - _sulking probably,_ you thought – and kept glaring past you, into the darkness.

"I don't get why you're so angry about this anyway, Sheriff," you start, waving a hand in dismissal, "So what if I care about your safety-"

You stopped short when Bigby had grabbed the hand you were waving and forcibly pulled you forward so the two of you stood only a foot apart.

"Because," he growled, "People that care about me are _idiots_."

That's not what he really meant, and as soon as the words had left his mouth, he regretted them. But, he was too full of pride to take them back. What he meant was, people who care about him are bound to wind up getting hurt, because wherever he goes, there is always pain and misery and heartache and loss, and those were emotions that he never wanted you to feel.

You stared up at him, confused, and a little – if you admitted it – hurt. Why was he being so outright brutish? Why was he dismissing your feelings for his well being as if they were nothing? You had only known him for a few hours, but already there was a notable bond between you. He wanted to break that bond, and you wanted to nurture it. Of course he made you angry, so you huffed loudly, yanking your wrist from his strong grasp and whipping around. You trudged off into the night, hearing the Sheriff sigh behind you, before calling you're name.

"(First name), wait, I- I didn't mean-"

"It's fine, Sheriff, I get it," you shout over your shoulder, not even turning to face him. _How rude_ , you thought, becoming too lost in your own angry and annoyed thoughts to notice that your vision had become unfocused.

Bigby watched you take few more strong steps, before you wobbled awkwardly, and fell.

"Here we go," Bigby sighed, jogging up to your unconscious frame and kneeling down. _The doc said that her body might react like this..._ He glanced down at you, lying there looking all limp and vulnerable. _Again,_ he thought, with mild irritation that quickly turned to light humour as he lifted you with ease and maneuvered himself to carry you on his back. _Again you've left yourself vulnerable to me._


	7. The Walk Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who reviewed/review, you are my jellybeans and I love you all very much ^^

The soft rhythm of your breaths swirl around the thump of your heartbeat and the wolf set himself a pace that matched. Grumbling all manner of things to himself - and to your unconscious form -, he quickly arrived at _The Woodlands_ \- his apartment complex. Did you mention you had been given an apartment here as well? He couldn't quite remember. Passing the gates of the complex, he noticed the sign. 

"The Woodland _Luxury Apartments_ ," he read aloud, turning his head slightly to you and sighing, "I wish they wouldn't advertise that..." 

Passing through the gates, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was someone besides the two of you out here in the darkness. He glanced around, noticing the 'Keep Off The Grass!' sign as it winked at him. He rolled his eyes. 

"Snow can sometimes be a disciplinarian," he explained to your dozing form, watching how you groaned in your sleep. "But I think you two are gonna get along well." 

A sudden movement in the darkness had his vision becoming impossibly sharp, trying to locate and focus on the sound. He gripped your thighs tighter, trying to pull you closer so he could protect you if needed. There was someone behind a large tree to his right, so he turned, facing it with a glare. 

"There's no walking on the grass," he called out to the darkness. "Snow White's orders. She made a sign and everything." 

A few seconds passed and a pretty blonde peered out from behind the tree, stepping into the light and across the grass. 

"I'll be sure to send her an apology," she mused light-heartedly. 

"Beauty," he greeted, recognising her. 

"Hello, Bigby," she returned his greeting, before spotting you, limp across his back, arms draped over his neck and his strong hands gripping your thighs around his waist. She gave him an amused, but slightly worried expression. 

"Isn't this the-" 

"Human/Fable Relations Officer, yeah," Bigby finished, sighing, "And she's a heavy sleeper." 

"I... wasn't expecting anyone," she explained. "I know this looks a little odd - but there's an explanation." 

"You're out pretty late..." he notes, watching her shift awkwardly. 

"Is there some sort of curfew that I don't know about? What's with the third degree?" she asks, annoyed, checking her watch before frowning. "Dammit, I'm late." 

Bigby watches her walk away, stopping only at the gate to ask a favour of him. 

"Please Bigby," she begins, "Promise me you won't tell Beast you saw me. He worries too much as it is, and... it would just make my life a lot easier. Just... please..." 

Bigby catches the look in her eyes and sighs. 

"Sure," he agrees. 

"You promise?" she asks warily. 

"I promise," he confirms. 

"Thank you, Bigby. I'll explain it all to you later - I will... but I have to go..." 

With that, she pushed the gate open. It creaks slightly as it allows her to pass through, and she walks off into the night. Bigby lingers for a few more moments, before he becomes aware of the weight of your body against his back, and turns. 

"Let's hope you've got an apartment here, because I haven't got a bed," Bigby grumbles at you, stepping up the stone stairs to the entrance of the complex, using his foot to push the door open, awkwardly shuffling inside so nothing bumps you while you slept. 

His eyes focused on nothing in particular. The building was the complete _opposite of luxury_ , but at least it was better than the Tenement buildings Toad owned... Bigby glanced to his left at the mailboxes and rolled his eyes. _Been a while since I got any mail..._ he mentally grumbled, shifting you higher up his back to stop you sliding off when he moved towards the directory of all the names of the fables who lived in The Woodlands. _204 - his apartment_ , although his name-tag was gone (a glance to the floor told him that the damn thing had fallen off again...) and apartment 205 was... _yours?_ The apartment straight across the hall from him... now belonged to you? This was far too unlikely to be pure coincidence - Snow or Crane had most likely pulled some strings so you would never be too far from his watchful gaze... or the other way around. Maybe you were so close to him because they wanted _you_ to keep an eye on _him._ He glared angrily at your name tag before sighing out in annoyance. _So everyone's pushing us together to keep us away from them..._

Shaking his head, his eyes found the elevator button and he awkwardly bent down to press it, hearing the mechanics grumble and groan as they moved to allow him entrance. There was someone making their way down the stairs, but he chose to ignore them. Firstly; he didn't feel in the mood to explain to anyone else why the Human/Fable Relations Officer was currently unconscious and slouched over his back, with his hands full of her thighs, her arms over his shoulders, and her breath ghosting over his neck. Secondly; he was fast reaching the end of his patience with everything and anyone and just _really_ wanted to get to his apartment without barking some obscenities and/or growling at a passer-by. And finally, he was simply in a shitty mood. So when he saw Beast's hulking body stride past the closing doors of the elevator, he kept his mouth _shut_. 

"Bigby! Hey, wait up!" 

Too bad Beast saw him anyway, and stuck his hand between the elevator door to stop it closing - instead, causing it to open again. Bigby fixed him with a blank expression. 

"Have you seen my wife? Have you seen Beauty-?" Beast stopped short when he saw you dozing peacefully between Bigby's shoulder blades. "Uh, who is _that_?" 

"Human/Fable Relations Officer," Bigby replied forcefully, hissing. "She's _asleep_." 

"Right..." Beast answered, quieter this time as to not wake you. "So, have you seen her?" 

Bigby shook his head. "Nope," he answered. "Haven't seen her." 

"Oh... okay," Beast shrugged, tossing you another look. "Sorry to bother you." 

Bigby gave him another pointed look before the fable shook his head in thought. 

"Dammit," Beast hissed, "Something's going on..." 

And with that, he turns and storms off, allowing the elevator doors to slide shut - fully this time. Bigby releases a breath he didn't know he was holding and concentrates once more on the sound of your relaxed breathing. The smooth and soft inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale and the gentle rise and fall of your chest soothes his demeanor and calms him. All his erratic thoughts slow to a mellow trail of memories from his younger days as a cub, with his mother, playing in tall grass from a time long, long before all this. _He'd tell you all about it someday,_ he thought. That is, if you wanted to hear it. 

The tell-tale _ding_ of the elevator told him he had arrived at his (and your) floor, a few short strides and he was standing outside your apartment door... with no way of getting in. 

"Dammit," he grumbled, resting his forehead against the door in defeat. 

This had been one long night, so why, at the last hurdle, has he fallen? There was no use trying the handle, the door was bound to be locked. But in his downcast state, he'd done so anyway, jiggling the handle feebly... and almost falling onto his face when the door swung open. He cursed, shooting you a look to check that you were still sleeping soundly, and when you were, he let out a sigh of relief. By the good grace of his senses, he was able to find the light switch, and when light did finally encompass the room, he was slightly irritated. So they could give _you_ a fully furnished room - complete with a king-size bed and decorated walls - but when _he_ moved in, it was nothing but floorboards and cracked drywall. He shook his head. What could he expect? Everyone around here _hated_ him, but they had nothing against _you_. In a way, he was happy - relieved. At least they weren't giving you the same treatment simply because you worked with him. 

Being uncharacteristically gentle, he slipped you off his back, placing his hand at the back of your neck, and lowering you down onto your bed... Now what? Should he just leave? If he had managed to open your door that easy, it must have been unlocked, meaning you hadn't picked up your keys yet and your door would remain unlocked all night. Even though he was right across the hall, he couldn't bring himself to wander back to his own apartment and leave you here, alone and unprotected. Bigby turned to the light switch, flicking it off. Maybe you were sensitive to lights when you slept and would wake up. Best not to chance it. He squinted around the apartment. The remaining light that streamed in through the open door from the hallway was enough to let him find your sofa. You moved in your sleep as his hand pushed the apartment door closed quietly. He stilled for a second... and only moved again once he was sure you were asleep. When he sat down, at once he knew that your sofa was a lot more comfortable than his, finding sleep washing over him a lot quicker than he hoped. 

But before he had fully succumbed to the strong pull of his tiredness, he heard you whisper something to the darkness. 

"Goodnight... Bigby," you murmured. 

"Yeah... goodnight."


	8. The Piece Of Clothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaaaasss, okay my babies, here is a super long chapter to make up for my absence ~ thank you to all who review and support me, I love u all TT ♡

"Bigby, can you wake up?" 

He opened his eyes, but it was only darkness that greeted them. Darkness and... you. He could tell straight away - from the smell. You were close to him as well. _Really close_ , so close that it felt like you were wrapped up together in- 

"Is there a reason why you're laying in my bed beside me?" you wondered aloud. A somewhat amused tone ran through your voice when you spoke, but you managed to keep it hidden as best you could. "I know it's comfortable, but you're squeezing me into your chest pretty tight, and I don't think were _that_ friendly yet." 

He lurched away as soon as he realised what you were saying - that your muffled voice coming from just below his throat meant that he _really was_ clutching you against him and that he had somehow slipped into bed beside you, despite him being _distinctly aware_ that he had chosen the sofa as his sleeping place and _not your bed_. He retreated so quickly that he tripped backwards, falling to the ground with a loud 'thud'. He heard you giggle softly and yawn, and after replaying what you had said to him seconds before as he lay aching on the floor, he didn't fail to catch how you had decided to add _'yet'_ to the end of your sentence. He grinned sleepily. 

"Shit," he groaned from the floor. "Sorry. I swear to God I fell asleep on the sofa-"

"Yeah, I know," you cut him off, explaining, "I was awake for the last few minutes." 

"Right," he says aloud, the word coming out like more of a growl. "So how did I get... over there?" 

"Not sure," you reply, "Not sure why you decided it was okay to stay over either." 

"Your door was open," he is quick to explain, "and I couldn't lock it - I don't have the key. And I didn't want to go back to my apartment across the hall and leave you to let you sleep without making sure you were okay-" 

"Bigby, I'm joking," you mumbled, saving him from explaining any further. "I know why you stayed. I really appreciate it. Thank you." 

In all his thousand years, he had never been more glad for the darkness than this moment. He swore if it was broad daylight, he would have had to turn away from you so you didn't see the expression he wore right at this moment. All smiles and creases by the sides of his eyes. A strange emotion to wear, he thought. Not often did he feel like this - if ever. 

"And stop smiling like that," you laugh. He frowns hard. 

"You can see in the dark?" he asked, highly interested and a little, if he admitted it, embarrassed. 

"No," you hum, "I just knew you'd react like that." 

There was a long and awkward silence from the both of you, as you lay wide awake in the darkness. You tried to find Bigby by listening out for his breathing, but strangely, he was being awfully quiet down there on the floor. It must have been only a few hours since you had left Dr. Swineheart's office, fallen asleep and had woken up - yet you felt completely refreshed. You heard Bigby groan and sit up, the floorboards creak under his weight as he stands and you bolt upright in bed. 

"I'm awake," you blurt, flipping the covers off yourself and standing, fearing that he might leave you behind. 

You were still fully clothed, bar your shoes - which Bigby must have removed in order to tuck you in - and so you frantically extended your arms to the floor, crouching to sweep your hands in large arcs in an attempt to locate your luggage which was supposed to be waiting in your room somewhere - one of the building managers had called and promised he would make sure your belongings were delivered safely, and you swore to god you were going to sue if he had lost them. You fell onto your knees, patting the ground in front of you in the darkness, unable to see much, when all of a sudden, the room was bathed in light. Bigby flicked the light switch on and cast you an amused look as he towered above you. You scrambled to your feet and spotted your suitcases placed beside your kitchen table. 

"Ah!" you acknowledge, brushing past him to grab your luggage, hoisting it onto the bed before unzipping it. Bigby cast you a blank look, and you pull out a pair of sneakers, holding them up triumphantly. "Can't wear heels all the time," you explain with a smile, before dragging your other suitcase onto the bed and rummaging through it, pulling out new clothes to change into. You throw Bigby a look as he stands there watching you. "Uhm... could you maybe turn around, Sheriff?"

He immediately understands that you're about to change outfits, and his eyes go a little wide, before he spins round so fast you could have swore it would break any regular Mundy's back. 

"Sorry," he grumbles, rubbing the back of his head. 

You waste no time in stripping down and changing your bra, opting for a casual dark t-shirt and switching your black jeans for a pair of lighter denims. Of course, you slipped on your prized trainers, letting out a noise of achievement when you had finished. 

"Okay," you called to the Wolf, "you can look now."

Instead of turning back around, he walks toward your door, throwing over his shoulder, "I have to check on my apartment. You can come along if you want... I'd prefer it if you did. It's probably a bad idea to collect your keys from the front desk at this time, and at least I know where you are if you're in my apartment. Might look bad if I just left you here on your own..." 

You find his behaviour awkward, but in a way it's sweet. You agree from behind him and he opens your apartment door, walking across the landing before diving in his pocket to grab his key. 

"Oh, you live just across the hall?" you question, rocking onto the balls of your feet, adding, "That's cool!" 

"Yeah," he answers, pushing his door open. 

"Guess that means we're neighbors," you figure, stepping inside after him. 

From the brief glance you got of your apartment from the few waking minutes you spent in it, you could already safely say - as you peered around Bigby - that the Sheriff's apartment was much, _much_ worse than yours. Whether it was because he was always a busy man and had no time or money to invest in decent furniture or renovation materials, or whether he simply never needed them and chose to live without - the apartment was certainly lackluster at best. 

Bigby tosses his keys down on a side table to his right, and lifts the receiver of his classic dial telephone, placing it down on the table so no incoming calls disturb him. Your acute gaze notices cigarette buds on nearly _every_ surface. _So he really does chain-smoke then..._ you wonder. 

"Make yourself at home," he says. 

Bigby adjusts his tie looser and moves past you into his kitchen to open a window. The red light from a street sign across the road for some takeout diners casts an eerie glow about his figure, silhouetting him in black and painting his edges a bright red. He turns to the sink, twisting the tap and watching the water fall, before cupping it in his hands and splashing his face. You watch in fascination at _just how human he appeared_. 

"What a night," he grumbles, and you're not sure if it's directed at you, but you answer anyway. 

"Yeah, you can say that again," you mutter, subconsciously palming your mended ribs. 

Glancing at a table with a few files strewn over the surface, your curiosity gets the better of you, and you move to stand in front of it, pulling open the cover with one hand. 'Bluebeard' reads the title, and inside is various facts and records of a man you have never met. You feel Bigby move behind you to turn on a fan in his room and your eyes immediately land on a large pig, fast asleep on a blue armchair. Bigby seems to notice too, and approaches the animal as you give him a slightly worried and entirely shocked expression. 

"Hey!" he calls, hoping that his loud voice will cause it to stir. Nothing. Bigby sighs loudly before leaning down and nudging the pig sharply with his fingers. It rouses, turning it's head to look at him, and _speaks_. 

"Oh," it yawns, "Hey Bigby." 

The wolf simply stares at the pig with hard eyes. _I guess this is what he meant when he said he had to 'check on his apartment'..._ you think. _Check for unwanted guests more like..._

"I'm in your chair, huh?" the pig realises sleepily. 

"I'm tired, Colin," Bigby explains. "It's been a long day." 

The pig - Colin, you guess - says nothing, but slowly - as if he's trying to annoy Bigby on purpose - slides out of the chair and makes his way over to slump beside the small, satellite TV as Bigby throws himself down into the armchair. There are a few awkward seconds that go by where Bigby and Colin simply stare at each other, both expressions unreadable, until you decide to break the silence with a very pointed cough. Colin almost shits himself when he realises there's someone else in the apartment besides Bigby - who is busying himself with lighting another cigarette - and the pig takes a few more seconds to familiarise himself with you. 

"Bigby, who's the Mundy-?" 

" _Human/Fable Relations Officer,_ " he explains curtly for the umpteenth time today. "There was a debriefing of her existence and her reasons for being here _today_ at the town hall." 

"Attendance was mandatory," you add, throwing Colin a pointed look. He ignores you in favor for directing his attention solely on Bigby. 

"Got a smoke?" Colin asks. 

Bigby says nothing, reaching into his pocket to draw the carton of Huff 'n Puff out again, tapping the bottom and grabbing the stick that pops up. He stands, walking over to Colin and crouches down to place the cigarette in his mouth, engulfing the end of it in flames when he pulls out his lighter. Colin takes a drag and speaks. 

"Thanks. Couple _thousand more_ of these and we'll be even on that house you owe me," Colin sneered. 

He must have been referring to the 'Three Little Pigs' story. He more than likely _was_ one of the three little pigs, and the house he was referencing was the one that the Big Bad Wolf huffed and puffed and blew down. You frowned, remembering that specific tale. 

"You know," you begin, folding your arms. "In popular culture, that story ends with you _boiling the wolf alive and eating him_." 

You could have sworn you saw Bigby smirk. 

"Stories get misconstrued over time," Colin dismissed. "He's still here isn't he?" 

You gave Colin an acidic look. 

"This has to stop," Bigby began, "You cant keep sneaking off The Farm like this." He stood from his seat and made his way into the kitchen. 

That's right. All un-glamoured fables had to live on a piece of land in upstate New York called 'The Farm. With powerful spells surrounding it, no Mundy could ever find its location. As you were told in a file send by your superiors, some of the residents resent their confinement to The Farm, despite it being a place of large size and holding many comforts. To them, The Farm is a prison. The only way they could leave The Farm was if they could somehow purchase a glamour, but, many simply do not have the money for something so expensive. 

Colin was quick to rise from his slouched position and follow Bigby, he stopped in the doorway and snorted. 

"The fresh air and sunshine pitch they sell you on is bullshit. I didn't escape out of the Homelands to end up in some _prison_ , okay?" Colin's tone became serious suddenly. " _Don't send me back there, Bigby._ You don't know what it's like, okay? You haven't been there." 

Bigby glanced at you quickly, who seemed preoccupied with surveying his shithole of an apartment to notice the conversation between the wolf and the pig. 

"Calm down," Bigby lowered his voice, "I'm not sending you back." 

The wolf poured himself a cup of bourbon, and Colin was quick to notice. 

"That for me?" 

"Nope," the wolf responded nonchalantly, walking past him. He stopped before you, gaining your attention as he offered you the drink. "Do you want some?" 

You glanced between the alcohol in the cup and his face. 

"Uhh, no thank you. I haven't eaten in a while so I don't think it's the best idea," you gave a small laugh and he nodded, brushing past you to stand by the table strewn with documents and folders on Fables. From the kitchen you could hear Colin's voice grow louder as he followed Bigby out. 

"The house didn't blow itself down, Bigby. That's all I'm saying. Do with that what you will. Now I'm not saying it's reason enough for me to have _definitely_ been offered a drink, but uh... it would have helped ease some of the pain you once caused me, yes. It also would have shown everyone how different you are now," Colin persisted, cigarette still hanging from his mouth. 

"The Sheriff doesn't need to prove _anything_ to _anyone_ anymore," you quipped, taking a seat at Bigby's table and staring hard at Colin. "And while we're on the subject, the house fell down because you did a shitty job of building it," you argued, mumbling angrily, "Who builds a house made of straw anyways." 

Bigby smirked, but hid it quickly, choosing not to turn to you or to say anything in return. 

"Well, it looks like Bigby wont ever need to open his mouth again," Colin began, "now that he has you to do all the talking for him." 

You stuck your tongue out at Colin childishly, and the animal ignored you. 

"If that was all you were saying, I'd be able to get some rest," Bigby threw over his shoulder at Colin. 

"I take it all back. _This_ is why everyone hates you," Colin drawled, causing Bigby to turn and face him. 

"So... everyone hates me?" Bigby asked, his tone hard to place. Colin wore an uncomfortable look as he glanced away quickly. 

"Nah," he corrected, "I'm just giving you shit." 

"I'm doing my best here," Bigby explained, sensing the truth behind Colin's words. 

"Clearly that is not true - what with the selfishness with the bourbon." 

Bigby rolled his eyes in favor of turning to sulk away, coming to stand in front of the table you were sitting at. You watched the events unfold from your seated position with mild curiosity towards how Bigby would react to Fables other than himself - ones that had dealt with his raw nature first hand. You wondered, as Bigby took a sip from his cup, if these Fables had ever seen him for how he _truly was_ \- before he reformed himself. Did he always look like this? Like a _human_? Or was he called the Big Bad _Wolf_ for a reason. Surely Bigby wasn't actually _a wolf_ , was he? 

"But no," Colin continued. "Hate's the wrong word. They fear you more than anything. You ate a lot of people back in your day." 

Bigby was acutely aware of how your throat constricted for a brief second as you listened to Colin speak. Bigby turned to his companion, glaring hole in him. 

"I thought we were all supposed to have a _fresh start_ here," he forced, adding a little more solemnly, "I can't change the past." 

"Well," Colin sighed, "You can't change people's memories either." 

You looked down, fiddling with the markings on the table. It must have been much harder for Bigby than you realised. Unlike humans, who could move away or loose contact with the people they wronged, Fables had to live within a few miles of each other and constantly come in contact. Not only that, but their lifespan was drastically longer than any human you knew, meaning that they would have to carry the burden of loss or guilt or _both_ for a hell of a long time. Bigby must have done some seriously bad things over his lifetime, but now he was here, having to deal with the people he hurt _everyday_ , despite him volunteering to be town Sheriff and _help them_. At least he was trying, right? At least he was trying... 

"Look, I'm not saying it's fair," Colin agreed, "but it's real. People are scared of you. I mean... look at your hands." 

Bigby glanced down at same time you looked up, the both of you taking in the image of his bloodied knuckles - a clear indication that he had been fighting. 

"Who'd you get in a fight with? A Fable, right?" Colin interrogates. "I'm sure you're not going around punching Mundy's." 

"I was doing my job, believe it or not," Bigby argues as you stay silent. 

"Your job is to beat the shit out of Fables?" Colin answered sarcastically, his tone dead. 

"Sometimes I take them to The Farm," Bigby jokes dryly. 

"Fuck you," Colin remarked, his tone suddenly a lot more serious. Bigby sighed loudly, returning to his favourite chair. 

"You think my job is easy? You try keeping a bunch of Fables from killing each other. How do you think this all works?" 

"I don't know. How?" Colin followed Bigby and regained his original slouched position beside the small TV.

"By being big, and being bad," Bigby explained. 

"'By being big, and being baaaad'," Colin mocked. "Don't say that shit in front of people, it's embarrassing. That's the attitude that gets you in trouble. I'm sure you were shitty to everyone you came across tonight." 

You opened your mouth to explain that Bigby had been everything _but_ shitty towards you, even going out of his way to make sure you were alright - on multiple occasions - but Colin made a noise of disapproval, obviously sensing you were going to speak up. 

" _You_ don't count," he cuts you off before you can even get a word out. "Of course Bigby's not gonna be shitty to you. He _works_ with you. Would be a little awkward if you both hated each other from the get-go." 

Bigby responded simply by taking another swig of bourbon, staring at you from over the top of the cup as you huffed angrily at Colin and crossed your arms. 

"Not everyone," Bigby murmured, spurring Colin to raise his eyebrows. 

"Name one," Colin pressed. 

Bigby took a few moments to think back to the events earlier tonight. Of course there was you who he had helped _multiple times_ but Colin insisted that you didn't count. 

"I don't actually know her name," he finally answers. 

"Awesome. Great example," Colin sassed. "Life is easier with friends, Bigby, and we live a long fucking time. I know you like this whole Lone Wolf thing you got going for yourself, but I've seen the way you look at Snow, okay? You're not fooling me." 

_Snow. Snow White? Seen the way he looks at Snow..._ So Bigby already had a love interest... and to top it off, not only was it another Fable just like him, but it was _the_ Snow White. She must be beautiful - like the tales of old would depict. Hair as black as raven's feathers. Lips as red as roses. A personality kind and gentle - pure as driven Snow. Someone much better suited to him, you thought, than yourself. You wallowed, slightly, in your own mixed emotions, while Bigby stole short glances at you. He wished Colin would keep his mouth shut sometimes. Now you had gotten the wrong end of the stick and this time, it wasn't even his fault. He sighed loudly, hoping you would think that he was becoming bored of Colin and as such, would omit that last part Colin had said from your memory. 

" _Will you shut up?_ " he chastised harshly, throwing Colin a knowing look that he better _shut his damn mouth or else_ , before nodding his head pointedly in your direction. 

"Oh," Colin let out a noise, then lowered his voice so you wouldn't hear, "Don't want your lady friend getting jealous?" 

"Colin-" 

"Well, maybe if my throat wasn't so parched I wouldn't have to keep talking," the pig reminded, glaring at Bigby's cup full of alcohol. 

"Wait, that doesn't make sense--" 

"Just give me a drink. Please?" 

"Colin, _enough already_. I haven't slept properly in two days. I went out a 2nd story window. And I want to get in two seconds of shut eye before I..." Bigby trailed off, noticing how Colin was silent and just staring at his cup. "Look. If I give you this, will you leave me alone?" 

"Yeah, yeah, alright... _probably_ ," Colin promised loosely. 

Bigby stood, crouching down beside Colin to place his cup on the floor so the pig could reach it's contents. As he stood, he noticed you had your head on the table, facing the wall and away from him. He didn't think you were asleep, based on the pace of your breaths and the fact that you were tapping a rhythm out with your shoes. He walked towards you, placing his hands in his pockets. 

"Hey," he greeted. You moved your head to look at him, the expression you wore was difficult for Bigby to assess, so he just kept talking. "Mind if I sit?" 

"It's your house," you reminded, sitting up straight. "Feel free." 

He took the seat opposite you, pulling the chair back and sitting down. It was silent between you two, and the wolf couldn't keep his eyes away, despite the fact that you were finding it difficult to maintain eye contact. You were so rare. A Mundy who seemed to understand him. Not even the Fables around him, who had been in his life for centuries upon centuries could ever say that they understood him. You hadn't even been in his life for a full 24 hours yet, and the both of you had already clicked much more than anyone else he knew. Even Snow. 

"Oh, Colin was right," you muse, your eyes on his hands. "Your hands do look in pretty bad shape. Doesn't it hurt?" 

He looks down at his bloodied knuckles and shakes his head. "Nope, not really." 

You reach out, wanting to brush your fingertips against his hand, but stop mid-movement, thinking better of the action. Perhaps you would come across as too overly-friendly, and just annoy him. That was the opposite of what you wanted. He caught your gaze and you couldn't look away. 

"I'm fine," he pressed, seeing the worry behind your facade. "Honestly." 

You nodded, sitting back in your chair and staring anywhere but _him_. 

"Look, I...uh," he began, causing you to turn your full attention towards him, and the suddenness of it caught him off-guard. Your eyes were _so bright_ for a Mundy. "I just wanted to say--" 

_Knock, knock, knock_. 

You jumped slightly, startled, while he turned his head towards the door sharply. Someone was continuously knocking on Bigby's apartment door. _Three knocks would have probably been enough..._ you think, a little irritated, before you realised. 

"Oh," you remembered, looking towards him. "It must be that lady -- from earlier." 

"Ah, yeah," he agreed, standing and making his way to the door. 

You got up and followed behind him, wanting to make a good impression by standing beside the Sheriff - rather than slouched at his dining room table. You watched Bigby straighten out his tie before opening the door swiftly. The person that greeted you was a lady, but not the lady you were expecting. 

"Bigby!" she cried in a panic, spotting you and nodding, equally as frantic, "Miss (last_name)." 

"Snow?" Bigby bounced back, "What-" 

"Come with me," was all she said before she turned on the spot and marched off. Bigby tossed you a look over his shoulder and you shrugged at him, not knowing what was going on as he left the threshold of his apartment with you on his heels. 

So _this_ was the Snow that Colin was referring to. Snow White. She really _was_ as beautiful as all the tales depicted -- though, in her smart outfit and pinned-back hairstyle, she looked a lot more formal and modern than the usual princess dress and long, flowing locks that all the paintings showed her wearing. 

Down the hall from Bigby's apartment stood large, double doors with the sign 'STAFF ONLY' embellished in gold across one side. Snow White pushed them open, walking at a brisk pace that almost had you jogging to keep up. Despite trying to keep up with her too, Bigby still hung back to hold the door open for you. 

"Snow," he called to her, but she couldn't hear him, for being too engrossed in her own thoughts, so Bigby called her name louder. 

"What?!" she shot back, a little aggressively. When she saw both you and Bigby staring at her with slight shock, she shook her head. "Sorry... I.. uhm... what is it?" 

"Where are we going?" Bigby asked, and you felt like the biggest third wheel ever, having to trail behind the both of them as they walked in tandem together. 

"Out.. in front of the building. We have to get there--" Snow cut herself short when someone else rounded the corner, almost bumping into the three of you and hearing about what was going on. 

"Hi," the man said, a little awkwardly. 

"Hello," Snow replied. "Good morning, or... evening." 

You felt like you didn't have time for idle chit chat, so maneuvered around the two Fables, and past the stranger you had almost walked into, choosing instead to stand and wait by the elevators. Snow and Bigby followed shortly after, and Snow leaned in to press the elevator button. 

"These walls are paper thin... we need to be careful. We'll talk outside," she explained, standing beside you and turning slightly so she could smile weakly at you. "It's also nice to meet you properly, sorry that it's under such... _conditions_." 

"Oh," you replied a little awkwardly, feeling like you didn't want Bigby to cast even a sideways glance at you and her standing side by side. No comparisons, please, for the love of God. "Likewise." 

Snow was the first to step into the elevator when it arrived and the first to leave when it had descended, followed by Bigby, with you still at his heels. Snow stopped abruptly by the glass front doors of the building and turned her head to glance at the Sheriff. Bigby glanced outside and you did the same. On the stone steps of the building there was a black mass of fabric - some kind of clothing, but the two of you were too far away, and it was too dark to know _which_ kind of clothing it was. Bigby was the first to make any move, and it was the slow twist of his head, followed by his tawny eyes that landed on you. 

"I think you should stay inside-" 

"No," you answered firmly. "You might be the Sheriff, but I have to make sure that no Mundies are -- or have been -- involved with... whatever this is." You nodded your head outside towards the piece of clothing, stating resolutely, "I'm coming too." 

Bigby opened his mouth to retort, to tell you to just do what he says, but no words came out, and he sighed slowly. 

"Fine," he accepted. "But make sure you're close to me at all times." 

This seemed like it was quickly becoming a rule among the two of you. Whenever a situation arose that was either dangerous or suspicious, Bigby was always telling you to stick to his side like glue. You had to admit -- as you followed closely to the wolf's body, the two of you crossing the threshold of the building and out into the night air -- that perhaps it was an unwritten rule you could get _very_ used to. 

Bigby skipped down all of the stairs, around the item of clothing, and in the shadow of the darkness, his hand grabbed the hem of your sleeve discreetly as you followed him. _What was that? Was that to make sure you didn't trip or fall because it was dark? No... it couldn't be..._

When you turned to face the mystery object face on, your eyebrows shot to the heavens and your eyes went wide. 

"Hey, that's _my jacket!_ " you exclaim, pointing to your blazer thrown lazily over the front of the stone stairs. 

_And so it was._ Complete with your silver Human/Fable Relations Officer badge, still glinting... though slightly dulled to a miserable grey colour. But, how did it end up all the way back here? You frowned, as Bigby crouched close to the jacket, his hand reaching out to pull the clothing up. 

_And you wished he hadn't._

There, placed below _your_ blazer, the one you had given a nameless girl just hours before to keep her safe from the cold, was the _head_ of the _same girl_. Decapitated, she simply stared off into the distance, her hollow eyes focused on everything and nothing, like a well that may never have a bottom. The only thing that swam in those eyes were the dull reflections of the world around her -- and you were sucked in. You can't bear to tear your gaze away, as much as you'd like to. You hear Bigby sigh from somewhere below you, and it's a pained sigh - you can tell, because it's much different from the sighs he's given in the past - it's full of hurt emotion and loss. 

"No..." he murmurs, dipping his head. 

You do the only thing you think you can _physically_ do, the only thing you _can_ do. You kneel beside Bigby, and slowly lift your fingers to her eyes, closing them softly so she can sleep in peace, before clasping your hand over your mouth to muffle a sob. Bigby catches your pain and chooses to place his arm around your shoulders to show you that you don't have to bear the pain alone. It's an awkward show of comfort -- for him at least -- but it's everything you need at this minute in time. Just someone there who knows that you both tried to help this girl and that the guilt beginning to weigh on your conscious is shared. It doesn't take long thought processes or planned movements to do what feels natural -- and so you lean in, resting your head under his chin, let yourself become enveloped by his gentle warmth and beg your tears not to fall.


	9. The Evidence and The Deliberation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to write a super long chapter, but I felt like it didn't really sit well with the flow of this story... so apologies for the short update T-T I hope you enjoy anyway! <3

It was Snow's voice that finally pulled both you and Bigby from your shocked and saddened trance-like state. 

"You both... knew this girl?" she asked, reluctantly. "Is... she's not a Mundy... right?" 

You were still too shocked to even comprehend putting a sentence together, and decided to let Bigby do the talking. The wolf shook his head in response, the stubble on his chin gently brushing against your forehead as you remained in his firm hold. 

"Who was she?" you heard Snow ask. "I thought I knew everyone in Fabletown..." 

Your eyes were focused directly in front of you, staring off into the hedges that lined the outskirts of the property, too afraid to turn your head and look at Snow for fear of also catching the grim sight just below her. 

"A working girl," Bigby explained, staring hard at the scene before him. 

"A working girl? I don't -- I mean, _I'm_ a working girl--" 

You glanced up at Snow to give her a brief, but pointed look. 

"Oh," she realised, falling silent. 

"The Woodsman," Bigby began, "He attacked her, I stepped in. Then he threatened to kill us both." 

"No... you don't think he..." 

"I don't think anything yet. Just gimmie a second," Bigby clarified. "So... who found her?" 

"I did," Snow answered. "She was just like this. I didn't touch her. That jacket was already covering her... then, I came to get you right away..." 

"No one else was with you?" Bigby asked, glancing up at her. 

"No," Snow replied. "Bigby, did one of... _us_ do this?" 

"There hasn't been a murder in Fabletown in a long time..." Bigby explained, more for your sake than Snows. 

"All the more reason we shouldn't start a panic before we know what's going on," Snow decided, glancing over the two of you and watching two passers-by stroll through the streets, unaware of the murder that had occurred just meters from where they were walking. "Have a look around," she continued, adding, "we don't have much time before people will be coming through here..." 

Bigby angled his face so you could lift your head and stare at him, your body still leaning on his for support. 

"Are you alright?" he asked quietly. 

"Yes, yes, I'm fine, Sheriff," Snow replied, "Just a little shocked is all-" 

"I meant Officer (last name)," Bigby corrected, giving her a look. "I know _you're_ alright, Snow." 

"Oh," the woman replied, her voice suppressing an emotion you couldn't quite place. 

You pulled away from Bigby, standing slowly for fear that you might topple over, your legs weak as they wobbled slightly. From his position below you, the Sheriff stared up at you expectantly. You sighed. 

"I guess..." you mumbled, giving a soft look towards the girl on the cold steps. "I guess I _have to be_." 

Bigby didn't seem satisfied with your answer, but decided against pressing you further for your emotions on this situation. He turned to the girl and studied her hard, his eyes scanning her head for any clues. You watched him work with curiosity, becoming even more intrigued when he turned over his shoulder to speak to you. 

"She was placed here with some care," he noted, staring you dead in the eyes. 

"What do you mean?" Snow asked from beside you. 

"He means that whoever placed her here, they wanted _us_ to find her," you realised. 

"Exactly," Bigby agreed. "You can see that somebody didn't just toss her here. She was deliberately placed for us to find." 

"What kind of monster would do this?" Snow murmured softly, shaking her head. 

"Strange cut," Bigby muttered lowly, and you began to realise that whenever he lowered his voice, it was remarkably similar to a _growl_. The wolf stared at her place of decapitation, wondering aloud, "What did this to her?" 

"What could do something like this to her?" Snow asked. 

"Either something _really sharp_ or something with _magic attached to it_ ," Bigby explained, leaning over her to get a closer look. 

"Her mouth," you suddenly realised, pointing, "Bigby, inside her mouth, there's something in there!" 

You heard a gasp from Snow beside you as Bigby pulled a long lilac ribbon from within the girl's mouth, a ring tied to the centre. 

"It's... her ribbon," Bigby realised, "There's... some kind of symbol here." 

Snow leaned forward to examine the ring, muttering, "Hmm, I don't recognise it." 

"Neither do I," Bigby agreed. 

You watched the Wolf as he rubbed his temples, a gesture you quickly realised he would do when he was stressed or frustrated _or both_ , and stood. Snow stood further back, arms crossed and surveying the area. She glanced down at the head of the girl, before releasing a pained noise. 

"Urgh," she breathed. "I... I'm sorry, this is just so surreal." 

"Yeah," you agreed, your eyes switching between the Sheriff who had his broad back to you, and the poor girl on the cold stone steps. 

This happened so suddenly, with no clear suspects except the Woodsman, who you knew little about beyond the fables your mother had read to you, and no real motif. This definitely wasn't your area of expertise either. A homicide? Murder? You were a Human/Fable Relations Officer, not some hand-cuff wielding FBI government official. Surely though... surely Bigby was equipped to deal with this sort of thing? He _was_ a sheriff and that most likely meant that he took to deal with any violent incidents, suspicious activity and... murder... even though there supposedly hadn't been a murder in Fabletown in a long, _long_ time. Not to mention the victim was a _Fable_ and not a human, meaning it was even more of his responsibility. You felt like now you were intruding in private affairs that concerned his people and _not yours_. Not only did you not have any experience in dealing with such a situation, you were also pushing in on business that had nothing to do with you. _How rude_ , you thought. _How insensitive of me..._

"Hey." 

A hand landed on your shoulder, or maybe it had been there for a while, you couldn't quite tell with how deep into your own thoughts you had become. Bigby's tawny eyes materialised into focus and deep worry lines were etched into his face. You gave him a blank look when he squeezed your shoulder. 

"Are you here?" he asked, eyeing you intently. 

"I think so," you replied sheepishly, nodding off behind him. "Are you going to search for any evidence?" 

"I already have," he answered, rubbing his chin "A few drops of blood behind me and on the top of the fence - still fresh. Someone probably hopped it... and a scrap of fabric, most likely denim," he finished, giving you a steady look, and crossing his arms. "It doesn't tell us much... _yet_ \- but at least we have something, right?" he offered you what looked like a smile, but it faded too quickly before you could fully catch it. What you did catch, however, was his use of plural pronouns. 

You couldn't help but grimace internally. Here you were, worrying about how much you were prying into the affairs of others and wondering how insensitive you must have seemed, being here as a _Mundy_ when it was a _Fable_ that had been killed, when Bigby was including you in everything. ' _It doesn't tell us much..._ ' The sentence had contained a plural pronoun, meaning he thought of you as his partner on this. He was sharing the information on this case with you because you had met her too, you had interacted with her, you were working together _with him_ and you were feeling just as lost and angry and guilty as he was now, so you understood him much better than any of the other Fables he knew, and the fact that you were a Mundy didn't matter to him. 

"Yeah," you answered softly. "At least we have something." 

"We should... move her..." Snow's voice caused you to turn, as she glanced down at the girl's head. "Before anyone shows up." 

"I agree," you shot back, turning to face Snow. "We should at least move her inside, don't you think?" you questioned, turning to Bigby, who nodded. 

"Yeah, can't leave her out here." 

"We'll find out more at the business office. She'll be in the books. I'm sure of it," Snow confirmed, giving you a resolute nod. She turned to the sheriff, asking, "Bigby... do you have any idea what's going on? How did this happen... why her..." 

"Someone brought her in from the outside," Bigby explained. 

"That makes sense... there's no signs of a struggle... but how do you know?" she wondered aloud, glancing at him. 

"I found blood on the fence back there," he explained, as he had done moments ago for you. "Someone hopped over." 

"Okay, good. That's solid..." she agreed, pondering, "So someone from the outside... Well, at least they didn't come from _inside_ the Woodlands." 

Bigby knelt down once more in front of the girl, as if he was desperately trying to find something he had missed before, but Snow's next words had him glaring. 

"I'm going to have to tell Crane about this. As long as King Cole is gone, he's acting Mayor... he needs to know. And he's going to find out anyway, so we may as well get out in front of it." 

Ichabod Crane... the mayor of Fabletown who you had met only once (just this morning) but felt an instant dislike towards. 

" _Don't_ tell him," Bigby warned, his eyes devoid of the soft tawny colour they would hold whenever he spoke to you. "It'll just complicate things. I've got all the motivation I need to find out who did this." 

"He's the Mayor-" 

" _Deputy Mayor_ ," Bigby corrected. "The position's a joke" 

"I'll think about it," she muttered. 

"I just don't want him interfering," Bigby growled. 

Snow said nothing in response, but brushed past you to climb the stone steps as Bigby followed her up the stairs with watchful eyes. 

"Crane's not what's important right now. We need to figure out who this girl was, so we can find whoever did this," Snow called from her position above both you and Bigby. You nodded slightly, agreeing with what she said. "Take this back to Doctor Swineheart. He can take a look at it. I'll meet you at the business office." And with that, she turned on her heels, pushed the door to the Woodlands open, and disappeared. 

The warm glow of yellow light that had spilled out from when Snow opened the front doors was quickly chased away by the cold night shadows as it swung shut, leaving both you and Bigby in the blue darkness. You cast him a look, noticing he was still staring at where Snow had been, his eyes dull. 

"I told you she could be a disciplinarian," Bigby grumbled, shaking his head. 

"When?" you asked, frowning. You had no memory of him ever speaking about Snow White to you before. There was an awkward silence as Bigby remembered he had told you while you were fast asleep against his back as he had carried you home. 

"...nevermind."


	10. The Girl in the Donkeyskin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An absolute BEAST of a chapter, because I'm really grateful for all the love and support I've been receiving for this story so I thought I'd work extra hard to give you guys more to read ♡♡♡

Bigby had been gone for around half an hour, visiting doctor Swineheart to deliver the remains of the girl for examination, while you patiently waited in the lobby of the building for his return. It was funny how _you_ were acting like a patient pup awaiting its master when Bigby was the one with wolf blood. You used the desk for support, leaning against its surface and drumming your fingers against the edges in a kind of therapeutic rhythm that was loud enough to keep your attention in the room, but quiet enough to not wake the security guard snoring peacefully behind you. At the wolf's return, you sprung up and followed him wordlessly, nodding behind him when he told you that everything had been _"taken care of... doctor Swineheart is going to take a look at her..."_

You were following him to the business office located on the ground floor of the Woodlands, somewhere Bigby was adamant that you begin your search for any new information that could help, and you passed a line of 3 people already waiting to enter the office. You felt bad for skipping the queue, but with what you had just seen outside the building, and the looming threat of a murderer on the loose, your feelings of guilt were pushed to the side and silenced almost immediately... until one of the citizens waiting in line stepped out behind you and Bigby, raising his voice. 

"What are you, blind?" he growled, glaring at you as you threw him a glance from over your shoulder, sneering at you in particular, "What? You don't see there's a line?" 

At this point, Bigby had turned and come to stand level (and if not a little in front of you) to stop the man from getting _too_ close. 

"I've been standing here a half hour already," he argued, moving closer to stand with his shoulders squared to appear larger... and falling miserably short in comparison to your hulking wolf companion. "You get to just _walk in?!_ Must be nice being the Sheriff -- do whatever the fuck you like!" 

"We _work here_ ," Bigby reminded forcefully, giving the man an incredulous look. 

"And what _great work_ you do, Sheriff," he replied sarcastically, baring his teeth. 

"Hmm," Bigby took a moment to look at you as he shrugged his shoulders. "That didn't feel very genuine." 

You smirked as you felt Bigby's hand on the small of your back, guiding you into the business office and away from the angry citizen of Fabletown. You could hear the man growl as the door swung shut, not failing to catch the way he hissed, "fuckers" before he disappeared behind you. 

Once inside the office, your eyes became impossibly large. How could the Woodland apartments hold a room of _this_ size? There was simply no physical way it could fit inside the building... unless it was underground, which you were almost completely sure it _wasn't_. It was almost impossibly huge. A magnificently tall ceiling, that had you craning your neck to the sky just to see the roof, swooped and curved it's way down to arching pillars that acted as support beams. The room seemed to stretch for miles in every direction, and housed all manner of artefacts and relics from what you assumed was each Fable's life and story. Your face must have been painted with all the emotions of awe and wonder that you were feeling, and it made Bigby smile. 

"It's magic," he explained, to save you the mental effort of working out how the room could possibly be _so large_. "This way," he instructed, shoving his hands into his pockets and giving you a small nod in the direction he was headed. All you could do was nod back in agreement and try to wipe the astounded look off of your face. It didn't take long for the raised voice of a male to jump out at you, and as you stepped out from behind a particularly large marble statue, you noticed Ichabod Crane and Snow White. Crane was yelling at her, and the woman was trying to defend herself. 

"-- because _you_ are the one bringing this to me, miss Snow! The one who so simply _'stumbled'_ upon this catastrophe on our very doorstep! The last thing I need with Mayor Cole away is a hysteria, do you understand me?!" 

"Yes! Of course I do, but--" 

"Don't interrupt me, miss Snow!" 

"You _asked me a question_!" 

"Don't change the subject. _You_ are to blame for this unpleasantness, miss Snow!" 

"I brought you this news as soon as I could," the woman tried to explain. 

"You are trusted to keep things running smoothly around here! This is a disaster!" Crane yelled back. "Who else is to blame if not you?" 

"Back off, Ichabod," Bigby interrupted, glaring at the deputy mayor. "It's not her fault. 

"I don't need your help, Bigby," Snow ungratefully reminded, giving him a pointed look. The wolf ignored her. 

"Instead of trying to assign blame, maybe we should figure out how to catch the fucker who did this!" Bigby reasoned, and you nodded in agreement from your position to his right. 

"Oh," Ichabod Crane made a noise of disbelief, spitting, "says the man who is most to blame for this catastrophe! How convenient." 

"None of this is Bigby's fault, _deputy_ mayor," you threw in, adding a tone of annoyance when you spoke his title. "He's trying his best here-" 

"Sheriff, you are the one charged with protecting the citizens of Fabletown," Crane cut you off like you weren't even in the room and currently glaring daggers at him. He turned his back on the three of you to sit down at his desk. "Your failure to do so cost someone their life, and the safety of this entire community!" 

There was a brief pause where his words hung stale in the air, empty (because you knew that he was the sort of person who cared little about others and was more concerned with how this situation would effect _his_ safety) and solidified by the fact that he was (although you hate to admit it) right. 

"Tell me you've been doing _something_ ," Ichabod Crane's voice meandered into your ears and you crossed your arms to form some kind of barrier between the two of you, even though he was addressing all three of you. "Are there any leads? Suspects? Anything. Anything at all. Any shred of evidence you three know what the hell you're doing?! Because right now, I have half a mind to fire all three of you." 

Snow had moved to occupy one of the two seats in front of Crane's desk, and Bigby moved to stand near the other. You stood next to him, arms still crossed... even though Bigby's hulking aura helped tenfold to deflect some of Crane's nasty looks and sneers. 

"The Woodsman is a person of interest," Bigby began, explaining, "from what we've been able to gather, he was the last known person with the victim." 

"The Woodsman?" Crane repeated, "That drunk wretch was the cause of this?" 

"He's a lead," Bigby corrected. "Nothing's certain yet." 

"Well find him! Get him in here if that's all you have to go on!" Crane demanded, leaning back in his chair. "You three need to get a handle on this situation quickly and quietly. The _last_ thing we need is all of Fabletown knowing there's a killer amongst us." 

You sighed. So much work to be done, and so little to go on. You would have to refresh your knowledge of not only every Fable that lived here, but their relations with others, their histories, their lives nowadays... you would have to remind yourself of the laws that these Fables followed and how they differed from the ones you had to follow as a Mundy... Not only that, but it looks like you are going to have to solve a murder case while you're at it. With all this taken into account, would you have enough stamina to keep up and run with the wolf? 

"Snow!" Crane called. 

"Yes... sir?" she responded warily. 

"Call Vivian right this minute and let her know I'm coming in early for my massage..." he ended the sentence a little awkwardly and you frowned, willing yourself not to let any emotions of disgust write themselves clear on your face. 

"I will," Snow obliged, watching Crane glare at the top of his desk. 

"Where is the bottle of wine you were to purchase?" he quipped in annoyance. 

Snow frowned, blinking slightly at the desk as she stood to observe it better. 

"Don't bother -- forget it!" Crane snapped, adding with a hiss, "can't do anything right." He stood sharply, moving around his desk quickly to storm away, throwing over his shoulder, "Do your job, Sheriff. Or we'll find someone who can." 

Bigby visibly bristled, squaring his shoulders and lurching forward. 

"You know what--" 

"Bigby," you stopped him, a hand on his shoulder, gently tugging him backwards and warning him softly. He looked at you sharply, but you held his gaze you uttered, "just drop it, okay?" 

Crane slowed his pace, looking as if he was going to turn, so Snow White piped up to save you all the trouble and hassle again. 

"We'll get right on it right away, sir," she called, giving a false smile as the deputy mayor stared at her for a few seconds, before resuming his leave and slamming the door shut on his way out. 

You sighed out a visible exhale, shoulders slouched from the tense atmosphere that had drained you of most of your energy. You could tell that Bigby was still seething from the way his body stayed motionless and rigid, and you doubt that there was anything you could say or do to make him snap out of it. Snow must have sensed his anger too, but, where you had failed, she stepped in a delivered a line that had him relaxing. 

"Miss (last name) was right, Bigby," Snow murmured, staring at the door Crane had walked through a few seconds previously. "You would've just pissed him off more." 

"Alright," he grumbled, like a child who had just been scolded. 

"Well, that could have gone better," Snow sighed, hands now firmly on her hips. 

"I told you not to tell him," Bigby reminded. 

"I know... I probably should have listened to you..." 

Bigby settled for another cigarette from his infamous pack of Huff 'n Puff as you moved to sit on the edge of Ichabod Crane's desk, watching him tap the bottom of the pack as he usually would, popping one into his mouth. 

"Oh," Snow started, sounding a little panicked as Bigby brought the lighter up to his mouth. "Crane doesn't like people smoking in--" 

He gave her a look from the corner of his eye and she immediately fell silent. 

"Nevermind," she laughed softly, shaking her head. "Smoke away." 

"Wine to a massage?" Bigby recalled Crane's words, sounding a little freaked out. 

"Probably a gift? The weird part of that is that he's actually being nice to someone," Snow spoke, wafting her hand in front of her face to rid the air of Bigby's second-hand smoke. She placed her hands on her hips again and shook her head. "I know I bought that damn bottle..." 

There was noise and movement from somewhere behind you, and you sprung up, jerking away from the desk and whipping your head about to find who was responsible for sneaking around. Bigby grabbed the hem of your sleeve with the hand he wasn't using to smoke with and dragged you closer to him. When you gave him a look of mild curiosity about his actions, he simply nodded with his head in the direction you were seeking. 

"Is... is he gone?" a voice emerged from the shadows, accompanied by a winged creature of clearly mythical descent. Neither Bigby nor Snow were fazed by this being's presence, and so you assumed there was nothing to worry about, and relaxed your shoulders once more. 

"Yes. Thankfully," Snow replied. 

Her words caused the creature to take flight, and you likened it to a monkey... if monkey's were emerald green. It carried in it's hands, a large bottle of what looked like wine, and landed squarely on Crane's desk. Without delay, the creature began prying the cork from the bottle with it's teeth, until Snow sharply scolded it. 

"Bufkin!" she called, walking over to it. 

"Hello, miss Snow," Bufkin greeted sheepishly, giving her a toothy grin.

"Drinking... this early? Where did you get that?" 

"It was by Mr. Ichabod's desk..." 

"Then don't you think it _probably belongs to him_?" Snow reasoned, giving the animal a raised brow. 

"Maybe," the little green monkey replied. 

You didn't realise you were frowning hard at the animal until Bigby tapped your ribs exceptionally gently with his elbow, probably out of fear that he could damage you, and leaned in. 

"He's a winged monkey, I think," Bigby explained quietly. "He's also Fabletown's librarian." 

"Oh," you hummed, smiling. "Thanks." 

You watched Snow yank the bottle out of reach of Bufkin, and you followed Bigby as he stepped closer to the animal. 

"How are you today, Mr. Bigby?" Bufkin greeted, and he turned slightly to you. "And Miss (last name), I hope your first day is going well." 

"We haven't had a great morning, Bufkin," Bigby replied solemnly. "Thanks for asking though." 

"Oh," Bufkin replied, seeming a little downcast. "Sorry." 

"It's not your fault," you reminded quietly, giving the animal a small smile, which he returned. 

"Bufkin," Snow called from right beside you, causing you to jump slightly. "Get the books." 

"Which books?" Bufkin asked. 

"The one's with all the Fables in it," Snow answered as if it was obvious. There must have been thousands of books stored in here, all appertaining to Fables... As if Bigby had read your mind, he voiced your thoughts. 

"Hmm, I'm not sure that was any more specific..." he muttered, his voice on the edge of a tinkling growl. 

"Bring... the first three," Snow corrected, sighing. 

"Be back in a few minutes," Bufkin replied, before stretching his wings and soaring upwards, gliding deep into the recesses of the room. 

You stood with Snow and Bigby, staring after him until he was gone. 

"He knows the one's I'm talking about," Snow spoke aloud, as if she was trying to prove she wasn't completely delusional. "There's bound to be information on her here... somewhere. We'll at least be able to get her real name from the books whenever Bufkin finds them. In the meantime, poke around. Maybe the mirror can help." 

With that, she turned sharply and walked away, no doubt to try to begin her research already. You turned to Bigby who was, much to your silent dismay, staring after her. You tried not to let his subtle actions sting you, and so you spoke up, hoping to draw his attention back to you. 

"The mirror?" you asked warily. 

"Yeah," he turned back to you, looking at you with his tawny eyes. "It's magic. Bit of a know-it-all if you ask me..." he rubbed the stubble on his chin. "Maybe you should help Snow out--" 

_Why?_ you silently protested. 

"--see if she needs anything, or if she needs some more hands--" 

_Why can't I help you instead?_ your eyes lost some of their sparkle as they dulled. 

"--Bufkin should be back soon anyway," Bigby finished, walking past you. 

You felt deflated. Had you misjudged everything he had said or done while he was in your company? Perhaps you had blown everything out of proportion... jumped to the wrong conclusions and mistook his simple kindness for a fond affection? Him just doing his job as him _actually caring about you_? Of course you had. How could you have been so stupid? How could he feel anything towards you, when he had known you for barely one day. He had know Snow White for centuries. Far longer than your life span would ever reach, and when you were dead and buried, and all memories of you had dissipated, he would still be by _her_ side... 

"Miss (last name)?" Snow called suddenly, and you whipped around. 

"It's (first name)," you corrected sharply. "You can call me (first name), if you prefer." 

"Oh, uhm, yes," she smiled, and you felt your cheeks flare and your teeth grind together. She beckoned you over, "Come and look at this." 

You were well aware of your clenched fists by your sides, and how stiff you seemed, but you couldn't do a thing to combat it. This raw streak of jealously was childish, really, but you still held tight to your behaviour. When you stood before Snow White, she was holding a book open in her hands, and smiling softly to herself. You sighed, relaxing your body and your hands and trying to let the calm wash over you. You would _have to work with her_ , and a tumultuous relationship wouldn't do anything to ease things, so you would have to try your best to get along with her in order to make everything run more smoothly. 

"What is it?" you asked, "Do you need me to help you with something?" 

"What? Ah, no," she laughed, handing you the open book. "I just thought you might find this one interesting." 

You watched her give you a warm smile, before she left you to it, in favour of studying some other books within her gaze. 

You glanced down at the open page before you, studying the images before the writing as you so often would with any piece of literature. The book was extremely old, and the pages depicted a young wolf cub, sat beside what appeared to be it's mother, the two staring down and up at each other in a peaceful tranquillity within a soft meadow. The wolf mother was strikingly beautiful and her fur was pure white, just like falling snow. For a wolf, she looked almost... kind. Her pup, on the other had, was grey -- all short and chubby from his age, with a cheeky appearance and beady black eyes. You couldn't help but smile at the image, a warm fondness spreading over you. Inscribed under the picture read; _Winter Wolf, sharing her love with her youngest cub._ The whole image and wording itself was lovely... but you didn't know how this had anything to do with the case at hand, or if it even related to anything at all. 

"Uhm, Snow?" you called, catching her attention. "What is this?" You held up the book and the open page towards her, and she immediately jumped forwards, lowering your hands and the book quickly. 

"Don't let Bigby see this," she whispered quickly, glancing over your shoulder to check that he was still fully involved with asking the mirror questions. 

"Why not? What's wrong with it?" you asked, worried. 

"Oh, there's nothing wrong with it," she clarified, smiling. 

"Then what is it?" you asked again, still clearly confused. 

"Do you not see it?" she asked, glancing up at you. 

"See what?" you frowned. 

Snow White tapped her finger against the image of the book, pointing to the beautiful white wolf. 

"That's Bigby's mother." 

It took a few seconds to sink in, but you came to realise that Snow had showed you this book, because the wolf cub sitting next to his mother was none other than... Bigby. You breathed a laugh, using one hand to trace the image of a young Bigby Wolf. _So this is your mother, Sheriff...?_ you thought. _She really is beautiful... and you look so different now... it's amazing..._

From his position by the mirror, Bigby sensed an abrupt change in your mood and instantly became curious as to what had triggered it. Waging a mental war between wanting to know what had caused your elated mood, and having to speak in god-awful rhyme, Bigby pushed his annoyance off-centre and spoke. 

"Mirror, mirror..." he trailed off, watching the mirror swirl to life in a haze of emerald as it stared at him expectantly. He glanced behind him, only able to focus on your back, before he turned to the mirror again and sighed angrily. 

"I'm waiting," it pressed. He growled. 

"Mirror, mirror... she's... pretty as pearls... tell me all about this girl." 

The mirror seemed impressed with his rhyme, as it answered him swiftly. 

"Which, of the millions of girls, are you referring to?" 

"Her," Bigby motioned towards you, "(first name)(last name)." 

The mirror gave him a strange look, before disappearing in a mass of colour and painting it's surface with your face, as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, smiling down at whatever it was that you were reading. 

"Not much of a request, she's in this very room," it reminded. 

"No, I know where she is," Bigby pressed, slightly irritated. " _Tell_ me about her." 

The mirror sighed, wiping the image of you from it's glass surface and showing Bigby flashes from your memory. 

"A kind girl. Sometimes funny... sometimes mischievous. A deep longing for something to call home. She has a liking towards a certain wolf... Her first birthday," it explained, showing you clapping happily as you blew out your candle on your pink frosted birthday cake. "She received a rocking horse and a _certain_ book of fairy tales..." 

"Which book?" Bigby asked, interested. 

"Little Red Riding Hood." 

"Great," Bigby sighed, watching you sit in bed with your mother, who read you the story in dim lighting. The mirror showed you aging fast, and each and every time you grew older, the book was still your favourite tale to read before bed. 

"Mother," you called from within the mirror, your age around ten, Bigby thought. "Why is the wolf bad in this story?" you asked, fingers tracing a rather accurate representation of himself, even if he looked a little on the small side. 

"Well, the big bad wolf has eaten red riding hood's grandmother - doesn't that make him bad?" he heard your mother answer from somewhere the mirror did not show. Bigby paled. He hated hearing about this over and over and over throughout the centuries. 

"Not really," you argued, causing the wolf's eyes to go wide. "Perhaps the wolf was starving and hadn't eaten for days. Maybe he felt awful for eating the grandmother but he couldn't do much else." 

Bigby was speechless at your reasoning. No one had ever tried to defend his actions before. 

"But the wolf tried to trick red riding hood as well, and if it weren't for the brave Woodsman, the wolf might have eaten her too," your mother continued. 

"Hmm," you pondered. "I think the Woodsman was cruel. Yes, the wolf was going to eat red riding hood, but he _is_ a wolf. It's normal for wolves to do that sort of thing, isn't it? We don't get mad at dogs when they chase cats. The Woodsman hurt the wolf just for being a wolf..." 

Bigby watched you argue fervently on his behalf. Even at such a young age you were able to understand the age old story from _his point of view_. Was it such a shock that here you were in Fabletown, amongst the Fables you loved reading about...? Working with the very animal who had been hated for centuries by those around him, except, it seemed, for a girl who had been fighting on his behalf since she was a child. This all seemed too planned for it to be mere coincidental... Bigby stared at the mirror, mapping your face as you read by yourself. How lucky he was to have someone like _you_ working with him... by his side... or how unlucky was he...? To now have something so rare that he could so easily loose... 

"Whoa, is that me?" your voice asked from behind him, suddenly appearing out of nowhere. Bigby whipped around, trying to discreetly shield the mirror painted with your memories from your vision. 

"How long have you been standing there?" Bigby asked quickly, hearing the mirror wash it's image away into only darkness. 

"Long enough," you smirked, hearing the sound of wings approaching. "Come on, I think Bufkin's back." 

You were right, of course. The winged monkey appeared, carrying three heavy books, and dropped them almost immediately when they became too much for him to handle as he tumbled after them, loosing his balance mid-flight and swooping downwards. Thankfully, you had foreseen this, and managed to catch Bufkin before he could hurt himself. Bigby watched you steady the animal, sending the monkey a warm grin and a light laugh as he thanked you. He managed to regain the books that had spewed themselves on the floor after their freefall from his arms, and he propped the largest onto a stand that was sitting proudly atop a desk behind Ichabod Crane's. Snow White appeared to tackle another book, which left one free for you to delve through. 

You stood by Ichabod's desk, waiting for Bigby to join you. You told yourself it was because you, as a Mundy, couldn't possibly dive into a book of Fables and understand its contents without at least the help of a Fable themselves... but in reality, it was because you enjoyed his close company. The wolf soon joined you, eyeing Crane's workstation with dissatisfaction. 

"He's an asshole," the Sheriff muttered. "Stay away from him, if you can." 

Was he telling you... because he cared...? Or simply offering you advice? Whatever it was, you were glad he thought highly enough of you to want to keep you out of trouble. 

"I'll be sure to do that," you hummed back, glancing down at his desk and finding yourself becoming immediately intrigued. "Ah," you let out a noise of recognition. "I wouldn't have pegged Crane to believe in the mystic arts and the occult..." 

"Huh?" Bigby asked, confused. 

You tapped his desk to draw the wolf's attention downwards, explaining, "Tarot cards." 

Three cards, all face down, were placed on top of each other, closer to Bigby than they were to you. Bigby looked up at you. You looked right back at him. 

"Face down..." you noted aloud, before giving him a resolute stare and ordering, "Pick them up." 

"Why?" 

"Because I want to see your future," you explained, as if it was obvious. 

You heard him sigh, but, he did as he was told, touching the back of the first card and flipping it over quickly. A major Acana presented itself to him. The artwork was minimal, but to you, it spoke volumes. The card couldn't have been more obvious. 

"Strength," Bigby read and shrugged. "I guess it comes in all forms." 

The card is adorned with the image of a young woman, kneeling, and in her lap she cradles the head of the black wolf by her side. Fitting, you note to yourself. The wolf's eyes are piercing yellow, and it bares it's white teeth in a ferocious snarl... but not at the woman, rather, at whatever seems to be directly in front of her. 

"Strength," you repeat. "A major Arcana. It represents the importance of mind over matter. To focus on what you _want_ , rather than what you _don't_. The main point in the card of 'strength' is that you have the ability to harness your thoughts and use them for not only your own good, but for the good of everyone else as well. Not only do you have the ability, you have the _responsibility_." 

Bigby seemed to listen to your words, allowing them time to settle in as he processed them, giving the card in his hand a hard stare. 

"In short," you summarised, "Conquer your fears, control your impulses, and never lose patience with yourself or what you are doing. Scarily accurate, don't you think, Sheriff?" You nudged his shoulder with your own, causing him to shake his head and drop the card. 

"Yeah, I guess. What about this one?" he asked, grabbing the next card and flipping it over, picking it up and holding it so you could see. You made a reluctant face, shaking your head. Bigby frowned. "What? Not good?" 

"Not necessarily. It all depends on how you take it..." you replied, staring down at another major Arcana. 

The Tower was arguably one of the worst cards you could pick from a Tarot deck. But, it wasn't all bad. Like with the hand you are dealt in life, what mattered most was what you chose to do with the information you received. Allow it to swallow you up, or learn to swim in the new currents. 

"The Tower mainly represents change," you explain. "Trying to hold too tightly to what you have known to be the status quo will quickly turn disastrous. Let go of what you know, and allow yourself to adapt to the changes." 

Bigby once again stayed silent, nodding softly like he accepted what you were telling him, before tossing the card away. His hands found the last card, and pull it upwards swiftly. He observed it, frowning hard. 

"Damn," he growled, glaring at the image. "Just what the fuck is this supposed to mean?" 

Bigby had shown a suit card this time. The ten of swords. The image showed a man, face down in the dirt, ten longswords plunged deeply into his back, all standing tall, blood pooling around the body. Again, you made a worried face, which the wolf did not fail to catch. 

You sighed, rubbing your forehead. "The ten of swords. Uhh... it just means... be careful about who you place your trust in. You cannot close your eyes or turn your head away from the truth. Above all, do not give up." 

"Right," Bigby muttered, placing the last card down on the desk and fixing his tawny eyes upon yours. 

"Did any of that help you out?" you asked, watching him turn his attention back to the matter at hand. 

"Let's focus on finding out who that girl really was," he answered, avoiding your question, perhaps, because you had hit the nail on the head with each of your interpretations. Or maybe he was just eager to get started. 

You nodded, agreeing with him, and followed as he moved to stand before a large and beautifully detailed book atop of the desk where Snow and Bufkin had already started their research. It must've been old -- if the leather-bound craftsmanship told you anything, but it looked like it had been carefully taken care of, despite its apparent age. Bigby opened the large, archaic book, settling for the middle-most page. A large image, spreading over the whole surface of both pages revealed itself to the two of you. It was a busy image. A lot was going on. Various people, who you would soon recognise as Fables, all engrossed in their actions with a few others, with total disregard for the rest. 

"We'll start with these," Snow began, motioning to the books spread before her. "Any information on Fables in our community will be somewhere in these books." 

You notice a woman with similar features to Snow down in the bottom left-hand corner. She's surrounded by dwarves, just like the stories of old described, and in her hand, she holds an apple, the one that would be infamous for sending her into a deep, deep sleep. Except, unlike the stories you grew up with that would depict the dwarves as friendly companions who would always look out for Snow White's safety, the one's shown here in this book had glowing eyes (which was a little unsettling to begin with) and instead of protecting Snow, they seemed to be controlling where she was allowed to move... 

"Is this...?" you questioned, pointing to the woman and looking up to Snow for a comparison. 

"Yeah, I'm... pretty sure that's supposed to be me," she answered, her voice low, almost as if she was hiding her emotions. 

You lowered your finger to her companions, asking, "And... these must be the seven--" 

"Dwarves," Bigby finished, his voice rumbling, "The less said about that, the better." 

"Oh... right." Yet again you were left feeling entirely out of the loop between what you _thought_ you knew about these people from the stories you had read about them, and the _true_ accounts of what their lives had entailed. 

"My buddy," Bigby suddenly interjects your thoughts, glaring at a man who looked in every way like-- 

"The Woodsman?" Snow asked. 

"Yep, and his axe," the Sheriff muttered angrily. Besides the Woodsman was someone or _something_ you wanted to say you didn't recognise... that there was _no possible way_ this could possibly be who you _knew it was_. 

"And this..." you mumbled, ghosting your hand over a large wolf, that, even on all-fours, stood clean over The Woodsman. "This is you?" 

"Yeah," he responds, his voice neither here nor there, and carrying an emotion you cannot place. The image shows a dark wolf baring it's white fangs, snarling so viciously that the man depicted before it has no choice but to raise a weapon against it in defence. An image far different from the man who leans beside you. 

"I see," you mumbled. 

Bigby has a hard time deciding if the image of himself in this book makes you upset or not as he watches your face intently for any sign of emotion. You can feel his eyes upon you, of course, and so you make no move to show your feelings, instead looking around the image for other clues. You spot a young woman, hiding herself from the gazes of two male onlookers by drawing her fur cloak tighter around her body, concealing her face. You frown. 

"Who is this?" you ask Bigby, pointing to the unknown girl, tapping the man to the right of her. "His cloak has some kind of symbol... do you know what it is?" 

"I've... seen this before," he realises. "This symbol on the man's clothes... it's the same as the ring's." 

"Could be her father?" Snow ponders. "Or husband?" 

She motions to a smaller, rouge book to the left of you. "That book has most of the emblems of the old days and usually what family they come from. If it's in there, we'll have her name." 

You move towards it, flipping the front cover open as Bigby moves to stand by your side. You peer into the book, and suddenly frown hard. 

"Uh," you make a noise. 

"What?" Bigby asks. 

"I can't read any of this... it seems to be in some kind of ancient language," you explain, rubbing your forehead. "Can you translate it?" 

Bigby takes one glance at the page and rears back. 

"Nope. I can't read any of this shit either." 

"I can help?" Bufkin suddenly offers, spreading his wings to leap in front of you, standing at the top of the book so he can assist you in understanding its contents. 

"Ah," you smile warmly at him. "Thank you, Bufkin." 

"No problem, miss (last name)." 

"Yeah," Bigby mutters. "Thanks." 

"We look out for each other," the green monkey grins. 

"Don't overdo it," Bigby growls, tone dead. You have a hard time keeping a straight face at his attitude, and opt for leaning in to flick through the pages until something catches your eye. 

"Isn't this your best friend, with his favorite toy?" you smirk up at Bigby, showing him a page with a detailed drawing of the infamous axe, along with the Woodsman wielding it. Bigby notices the carving engraved into the metal axe, and taps the more detailed singular drawing of the symbol besides it. 

"What does this mean?" he questions. Bufkin opens his mouth, but you cut him off. 

"It's a druid symbol," you explain. 

"How do you know that?" Bigby and Bufkin seem to ask together in perfect unison. You smother a laugh at the expressions on their faces. 

"I just do," you answer bluntly. "The symbol is actually a blessing." 

"Someone blessed that thing?" Bigby asks exasperatedly. 

"Looks like it," you sigh, turning the next few pages until you come to what you're looking for. Bigby notices it too, and points. 

"This is the one," he taps the page, or more specifically, a large sketch of a ring, bearing the same symbol as the one on the man's cloak from before. "Where is this symbol from? Which family or story?" 

"That's an odd one," Bufkin explains, reading the page. "A family name? All-lair-lie-rau? I'll go look it up." 

"Allerleirauh..." you repeated, a sickening feeling creeping over you. 

"Allerleirauh... that means 'every kind of fur' in German," Snow explained. 

"I know this story," you interrupt, just as Bufkin found the page detailing the Fable you were looking for. All three turned to you, waiting for your next words. "I... uh... it's quite a dark tale..." 

"There was once a great King with a beautiful Queen," you began, placing your arms on the table in front of you for support. "One day the Queen grew ill and had her husband promise to only marry the most beautiful girl in the kingdom. After a long, long search, it became clear that the only woman in the land who could match the Queen's beauty was..." you trailed off, bowing your head as a thick silence descended. " _...his daughter... Faith_." 

You chance a glance upwards and found Snow covering her mouth in shock, Bufkin bowing his head, and Bigby with a look of shocked sadness, which, you thought, amongst all of this, was an emotion not suited to him at all. 

"She had a magic cloak made from the skin of her father's prized donkey that would hide her beauty so she could escape his kingdom. Eventually, so the story goes, she married a prince who could see past the magic cloak and knew her real beauty. And that's how it ends," you finish solemnly. Snow and Bigby exchanged looks. 

"Should I... mark it, miss Snow?" Bufkin asks quietly. 

"Yes... please," Snow replied. 

Bufkin held up a large stamp and firmly pressed it against the page that showed the story you had just recalled. When he removed the stamp, bold red letters printed _'DESCEASED'_ across the page, finalising both the search for information on her and bringing an end to her own story entirely. 

"What's her husband's name?" Snow asked. 

"Lawrence... Prince Lawrence," Bufkin answered, reading aloud from the book before him. 

There was a brief silence between the three of you, in which you were constantly watching Bigby for his next move or what his next plan would be. The wolf suddenly turned, giving himself distance between you and Snow. His actions pushed you not to follow him, but to give him the space he needed. 

"We got what we came for," Snow spoke, folding her arms and casting her eyes to the floor. 

"Yeah," Bigby grumbled, a good few feet away. 

"Her name's Faith, she was married to Price Lawrence. I mean, that's more than we--" 

"Her name _was_ Faith," Bigby corrected, running a hand over his face, his bruised knuckles still prominent from his fight hours earlier. 

"Yeah," Snow muttered, realising her mistake. 

"We should talk to her husband," you propose, adding, "We need to inform him about what's happened, don't you think?" 

"Hmm," Bigby made a noise of apprehension. 

"What? You think _he_ did it?" you ask, wondering about the possibility of her husband being the prime suspect. I mean, it was a possibility, right? 

"No, I don't," Bigby clarified, walking back towards you and Snow as he stood before you, holding your gaze. "But I think you're right. We need to let him know about his wife." 

You nodded, rubbing your neck to relieve some of the muscle ache and tension that had built up, and turned to Snow. 

"Do you have his address anywhere?" 

"It must be around here somewhere, in the residency files," she replied, "I'll have a look." 

With that, she was off to find what you and Bigby needed to move on to the next obstacle. You wondered how you should act while you were there with Faith's husband... No doubt Bigby would be awkward and brash as hell, and you would have to be the one to step in to offer condolences and kind words, despite having no experience in these sorts of things. You sighed for the umpteenth time today. What an astoundingly brilliant first day this had turned out to be. 

"What should we do now?" you turned, asking him quietly. 

"I have a feeling the mirror could help..." he answered, turning to walk away, knowing you wouldn't be far behind. 

Of course, you followed, walking with him until he was standing before the magic mirror, you felt him become immediately annoyed as he spoke. 

"Mirror, mirror, blah blah able... blah blah blah about this Fable," Bigby rhymed uninterested, speaking with much less enthusiasm then you had ever heard him use before. You tossed him a look from the corner of your lashes, and he mouthed a 'what?', shrugging his shoulders as you rolled your eyes. 

The mirror swirled to life as a large green face appeared before the two of you. 

"Of which Fable do you wish to know?" it asked. 

"Show me... show me Faith," Bigby answered. 

"Wait, we don't want to see this, Bigby," you panicked, grabbing his arm and fearing the worst. "What if it shows us--" 

"Through powerful magic, her whereabouts concealed. Unfortunately for you, _these lips are sealed._ " 

"Wait," you stopped abruptly, becoming rigid and feeling Bigby tense underneath your hand as he recognised the wording too. "What did you just say?" 

" _These lips are sealed_ ," the mirror repeated. 

"How do you know that line?" you raised your voice, stepping forward as you squared up to the mirror, losing all the composure you fought to keep. "Why did you use _those exact words_?!" 

"Hey," Bigby grabbed your arm and pulled you back to him, shaking your arm to grab your attention so you locked eyes with him. "Calm down, alright? It's not the mirrors fault." 

"It's not my choice of phrasing, miss (last name). It's simply the way this has to be," it explained. 

You shook yourself free of Bigby's grip a little more roughly than needed, straightening your t-shirt and regaining your composure. Somewhere deep inside Bigby, a little pang of hurt twinged at your actions, but a rough growl silenced his heavy heart. 

"Right," you mutter. "Sorry." 

Bigby opens his mouth again, but closes it shortly afterwards, watching you stay still and silent, staring dead in front of you. It's a little unnerving to see you like this. Quite out of character. Of course, he hasn't known you that long, so you might just get like this sometimes, but it felt like, to him, the death of Faith was taking a toll on you. He made a mental note to _really_ ask you if you were alright after this. 

"Show me... Faith's father. The old King," Bigby requests. 

The mirror replaces itself with the image of a skeletal hand amongst the dirt and grass. An arrow protrudes from the ground beside it, painting the image of the old King have fallen in a battle, his family ring still wrapped around a bony finger. 

"Mph. Guess that crosses him off the suspect list," Bigby mutters darkly as he chances a glance in your direction. Still... nothing. Your eyes were still locked dead ahead, as if you were mulling things over... 

"How about Prince Lawrence," you suddenly pipe up, almost giving Bigby a heart attack. "Her husband." 

This time, the scene the mirror showed you was a lot more disturbing. His face was concealed, but there was a man sitting in a chair, his skin pale and void of colour and at his feet, a dagger lay within a pool of fresh blood. 

"What's he been doing?" Bigby muttered, throwing over his shoulder, "Hey Snow, you got that address yet?" 

"Yeah," she called, from not too far away. "South Bronx... in a yellow building with red window shutters." 

"That's not an address," you hiss angrily. "But I guess it's a start." 

"I can take us there?" she offers. 

"No need, we can catch a cab," you answer bluntly, refusing her help and turning sharply to walk away. 

Until Bigby's strong grip finds its way around your upper arm once more, tugging you backwards to face him. The emotion in his eyes has you snapping out of whatever mood you had been in. 

"Is everything alright?" he lowers his voice. 

"Yeah, yeah," you answer softly, rubbing your temples and giving him a weak smile. "I guess this is all just hitting me a little hard." 

"I need you to know that you're not alone throughout all this," his voice suddenly takes on a tone you have never heard from it before, and it's very much soft and reassuring. "You have me, and you have Snow. We're all going to figure this out one way or another. You don't have to work it all out on your own and you don't have to suffer alone either. You got that?" 

"Bigby... I," you open your mouth to say something, but your words fail you when his eyes are speaking volumes and your brain cannot keep up. You feel like a child again, and Bigby's voice is lulling you into a soft sleep while a thunderstorm rages overhead, but you care little because _he is here_ and _he will keep you safe_ just like he _always_ has. 

A shrill ring of the office telephone has you startled, but Bigby only relaxes his grip when your body relaxes, and you tell him that you're 'feeling much better now'. You thank him quietly, offering him a genuine smile this time, and he returns it. Bigby doesn't know how to smile quite so genuinely. Maybe he did once, but he hasn't had to in a long, long time. With you around though, he's starting to remember what it feels like. And it's a nice thing to experience. 

"Sorry," Snow calls. "I have to get that." 

"I can do the talking at Lawrence's' if you want?" Bigby offers. "If you're not feeling up to it, you can wait outside..." 

"I'm fine, Bigby," you push, laughing slightly. "I still have to do my job. It wouldn't be fair on Faith if I give up so easily now." 

He admires your strength in that moment, and nods his head. If you were comfortable with it, then so was he. Strength. Guess it comes in all forms... 

"Hello? Woodlands Business offices... yes... I... he is. Hold on," Snow pulls the receiver away from her ear and hands the line to the wolf. "Bigby... it's for you." 

He takes the phone from her and lifts it to his ear. You come to stand to his side, interested in what's going on. 

"Sorry about the car," is the first thing that leaves his mouth. 

You feel a strong sense of pride at his actions, and then immediately realise that it's Toad on the other end of the line. _Wonder what Toad could want..._ And as soon as it's begun, Bigby is pulling the phone away from his ear, and the line is dead. 

"What was that about?" Snow asks. 

"Hard to say... something going on over at Toad's place," Bigby explains. 

"What about Faith's husband?" Snow wonders, discreetly asking who the two of you will deal with first. 

"I don't know. I couldn't really tell," Bigby starts, "But he could be in trouble. And we should go there anyway to search her apartment. Toad might have to wait." 

Bigby turned to you, asking, "What do you think? Where should we go first?" 

You pondered for a moment, slightly embarrassed that he didn't ask Snow for her opinion, and slightly smug about that too. 

"My gut is telling me to go to Price Lawrence. I feel like he needs the most help right now," you answer, nodding resolutely. 

"Well, I'll trust your call," he states, folding his arms. "Snow, can you write down Lawrence's address? We're going to take a cab there and my memory isn't as good as it used to be." 

She nods, "Sure, give me a second." She turns to grab a scrap of paper off the nearby desk, scribbling down an address. 

"Your memory _isn't as good as it used to be_?" you mock Bigby's words back to him, laughing, "You sound like an old man." 

"Hey, I'm not _that_ old," he huffs. 

"I would dispute that," Snow joins in, handing him the scrap of paper. "Take care of each other," she smiles. 

You give her a small nod, feeling Bigby tug at your sleeve discreetly to move you along -- a gesture which was quickly becoming an unspoken rule between the two of you. Somewhere in the back of your head, far past thoughts of fear and anger for what had happened today and what was likely to come, you were sadly developing a bitterness towards Snow for Bigby's apparent fondness towards her. You saw her as an immediate rival, but one that your mind screamed you could never hope to become an equal with. You're heart however, even though it had become heavier since meeting her, hoped that you and Snow could become friends, even if it did mean stepping aside and allowing Bigby to love her.


	11. The Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to give a massive shoutout and say thank you so friggin much to everybody who reviews and leaves a kudos on this story. It honestly means so so SO much to me that people are supporting my story, and all the kind reviews keep me motivated and encouraged to keep pushing on to develop my *shitty* writing skills so I can deliver higher quality chapters to you guys T-T Thank you for liking my work, it really makes me super happy ♡♡♡  
> I love you guys ♡♡♡

Despite Bigbys many suggestions that you to go back upstairs and catch a few hours of sleep while he handled things over at Prince Lawrence's apartment, you fervently denied him--being deliberately obtuse and stating that you were _fine_ and that you _didn't feel tired at all_. 

Turns out you had fallen asleep in the back of the cab for the whole ride over to the South Bronx, your head lolled against Bigby's shoulder. He had neither the stone heart to wake you up nor one to move you, so he just let you sleep there, peaceful and quiet against his body. Your breath was hot against his shirt and he found himself smiling in the quiet space of the back of the taxi cab--amongst the midst of everything that was currently hanging in the balance, you seemed to always be doing subtle things that kept him grounded and kept his thoughts from unravelling. 

When the cab finally stopped after a long half an hours drive, Bigby placed his hand on your shoulder, and shook you gently. 

"Hey," he whispered, trying not to be too loud and wake you too abruptly. "(first name)--" 

You moved a little in your sleep, so he grabbed your shoulder more firmly, giving you another shake. 

"(First name), we're here, wake up." 

You stirred, coming to life as you peered around. You yawned, stretching your arms and legs as much as the back of the taxi cab would allow, and grabbed the door handle. 

"How long was I asleep for?" you mumbled, shaking yourself to rid any remnants of sleep, and stepping out of the cab. 

"The whole ride over," Bigby responded, lighting a cigarette. He leaned in to pay the cab fare and stepped back as it drove off. 

Embarrassed was an understatement. Why did you keep falling asleep--and why was it always in front of _him_? Obviously you were exhausted--your human body falling far behind in trying to keep up with his. Bigby could probably go for days and days and days and not feel the slightest hint of fatigue, whereas you could only perform for a certain amount of _hours_ before you physically had to stop. He stood, his back towards you, a small trail of smoke slithering up from his lit cigarette as he surveyed the building, and then turned. 

"So," you began, "let's just pick an approach and stick to it." The worst thing the two of you could do was go stumbling in there without a plan of action and trip over your words to a man who had just lost his wife. "Any ideas about where to start?" 

Bigby folds his arms. "We're here to question Lawrence and bump him up on the suspect list or cross him off entirely," he explains, causing you to place your hands on your hips, shifting your weight onto one leg. 

"...okay," you utter, more to yourself than to him. 

"What is it?" he asks, catching your tone. 

"I don't know," you mumble, staring past his shoulders towards Lawrence's apartment block. "I just don't think he did it..." 

"In cases like these, isn't it usually the husband?" Bigby asks, raising a brow. 

"Well, yeah, for Mundies, maybe," you argue, "But this is different." 

"Either way, we've got to question him," the Sheriff finalised, throwing a glance over his shoulder, before he spotted what he was looking for. "I'll try the door first. You look through the window and see if anything catches your eye." 

"On it." 

Bigby turns, heading for the front door and you do the same for the window, squinting your eyes and leaning in. It's been sild open, leaving a gap at the bottom, but between the blinds covering most of the frame and the dim light inside the apartment, you can't make out anything in particular. Besides, your concentration isn't exactly at it's peak when you can hear Bigby banging on the door with his fist, hard enough for it to resonate through the entire apartment and back out the window at you. You hear him yell Lawrences' name and ask the Prince if he's in there. You curl your hands around the ledge and lean in. Your eyes are slowly becoming accustomed to the dark apartment, and you catch sight of an armchair, its back partially facing the window, with what looks like someone slouched in it. What's even more alarming is the fact that there is a dagger on the floor close by, covered in a dark liquid that you try and convince yourself _isn't_ blood. 

"See anything?" 

You let out a yelp, twisting round to see the wolf giving you a confused look. You clutch your heart from the fright. 

"Please don't do that," you gasp, giving him an incredulous look. "You startled me." 

"Oh, sorry," he mumbles, scratching the back of his head. 

"I think I can see what the mirror showed us--there a dagger and... it's covered in..." you trail off, not wanting to finish and hoping he gets the message. 

"Alright," he looks around, waiting until the street is devoid of people and traffic, before finishing, "We'll try this out," and lifting the window up just enough to allow him to pull himself ungracefully through the opening and into the apartment. 

You were about to say something like ' _aren't you forgetting that breaking and entering is illegal_ ', but his outstretched hand in your direction offering you help acted as a silencer. He pulls you effortlessly through the gap in the window, and only lets go of your hand once he knows you have regained your balance. 

The apartment is dim, and the only light source is coming from the TV in the corner, casting an ominous glow around the room. There's a fan turning, blowing air weakly, but it does little to cover up the bad smell that seems to be lingering. You try to keep your eyes off of the chair, and find yourself darting your attention to the various photos hung on the wall depicting happier times. When Bigby moves around to the front of the chair, you know you have to follow him - even though you're screaming at yourself to stay in a place where you cannot see the body... 

Lawrence is a deathly grey. There is a prominent hole in his chest that had been weeping blood and is now dried in a thick trail down his white t-shirt. His head is lolled against one of the walls of the chair and what's worse is that his eyes are open--empty and ceaselessly staring over your right shoulder. You find it difficult to look away, despite there being a strong voice inside you that screams at you to turn a blind eye. 

"We're too late," you breath, unblinking, asking aloud, "What do we do? Who would do this to them?" 

Bigby is just as shocked as you are, but he's much better at hiding it in his voice when he looks at you and replies, "I don't know." 

"We should keep pressing on," you find yourself stating. "Don't you think?" 

"Yeah," he hums, crouching down, his eyes scanning the floor. 

"The mirror showed us this," he states suddenly, tapping his finger on the floor near a silver dagger. "It's sharp... and there's blood on the blade." 

"Do you think it's the murder weapon?" you ask quietly. "Maybe... Faiths...?" 

"I don't know," he is quick to respond. You find yourself falling silent. Maybe you're making things more difficult by constantly asking questions... 

"There's blood over here," you hear Bigby speak, and you watch him touch a patch of darkened carpet--it must still be wet. "It's still a little sticky..." he mutters. 

"What does that mean?" you wonder aloud. 

"It's not entirely fresh, but still wet enough for it to only be a couple hours old," he answers, flashing you a look. 

The blood pattern catches his eye again, and he stands, walking over to a cabinet in the wall. You watch him as he reaches to the top of it, and pulls, revealing a fold-down bed. Immediatey, the blood stain on the floor matches up with a large patch of blood on the bottom right hand corner of the mattress. You reel back a little, and Bigby curses at the new discovery. You place your hand on the other side of the mattress to steady yourself, but the cool feel of paper is the only thing that greets your fingers. 

"Bigby," you call, picking up what appears to be a note (that was, much to your slight horror, _stuck to the bed a little_ ) and handing it to him. 

He turns to a better source of light, moving the note so the both of you can see, and reads aloud, "My dearest Faith. I never meant to hurt you, and I cannot endure knowing that I have. This was for the best. I'll see you again. Love, your devoted Lawrence." 

"That doesn't make any sense," you turn to him. "It sounds like Lawrence killed her... 'this was for the best'? 'I never meant to hurt you'?" you quote the suicide note, rubbing your temples, "But why would he add ' _love, your devoted_ ' as his ending signature? If he killed her, wouldn't there be something less than 'love' as the motive? And surely this wouldn't be an act of devotion?" 

Bigby looks like he's agreeing with your points, but trying to figure out the events before him for himself. You glance over at Lawrence, walking to stand in front of him. You feel ashamed that you couldn't do anything to protect him--or Faith for that matter. Ichabod Crane said there hadn't been a murder in Fabletown for a long, long time, and yet, on the day of your arrival there have been two Fables killed... or one killed, and one who killed himself. You crouch down, looking Lawrence in the eyes, trying desperately to read the expression on his lifeless face to find anything that could hint something of importance. 

"I'm sorry I couldn't help you sooner," you whisper, watching him blink at you. 

Wait. 

He just blinked. 

You let out a gargled shriek of surprise, falling backwards and pushing yourself away from Lawrence as quickly as you could, Bigby immediately at your side. 

"H-he's awake! He's alive!" you stumble over your words, pointing a shaky finger at Lawrence, who rose from his seat with a violent cough, lurching forward and falling between your legs. You grip onto Bigby almost painfully, letting go only when the wolf moves to lift Lawrence back into his seat. 

"Let's get you back up," Bigby ushered to Lawrence, as you rose to your feet. 

"W-what are you doing here?" Lawrence asked, softly spoken. "What's going on?" 

"W-we found you here," you began, your heart thumping below your chest. "In your chair. You weren't moving... or breathing... and you had what _looked like_ a fatal injury," you paused, giving Bigby a look. "We should call Dr. Swineheart, right? He needs to have his wound taken care of-" 

"Wait a second on that," Bigby interrupted. You couldn't possibly think of a reason _why_ Bigby wanted you to wait. Lawrence could bleed out, right? He could still die- 

"You know who I am?" Bigby asks Lawrence. The man takes a second to blink up at the Sheriff, before he nods. 

"Good, I have a few questions," Bigby starts. 

"Why? Wh-what's this about?" Lawrence asks, looking between Bigby and yourself. You decided to keep silent and let Bigby do the talking. He had much more experience than you in these matters. 

"We found your note..." he starts. 

"I made a decision... for us... it felt like the only way out... so..." Lawrence gives a breif pause to collect his breath. "I... shot myself... in the heart," he grabs his chest, making a noise of agony. "Thought I'd be dead by now... hurts like fucking hell." 

Bigby kneels to inspect the injury, pointing out, "Your heart's actually a little more to the centre. You probably hit a lung." 

You cant help the sigh that leaves your lips at Bigby's blasé behaviour towards this mans wound. He's shot himself, and Bigby's lecturing him on his anatomy. Bigby stands, tossing you a look. You choose to ignore it. 

"Great," Lawrence tries to sigh, but it comes out as more of a forced puff of air. "At least... that's how I think it happened... things are a little fuzzy... I thought it was a bad dream..." 

"Why did you do it, Lawrence?" you ask suddenly. The question has been burning on your mind and you can't stop yourself from asking. 

"I did it because I was ashamed... I... couldn't live with myself knowing I had done that to her. I did what I could to keep her away. But she still worries about me. She comes by, makes sure I'm okay." 

You and Bigby stood, tense and silent, listening to Lawrence speak. You felt as if you couldn't interject, and nor did you have to heart to, so both you and the Sheriff stood, nervously awaiting his recollection of the events. 

"I'm a fucking burden," he continues, "I'm useless... I don't want her to have to worry about me anymore... she's better off without me... without me being here to drag her down. She deserves that. She's been through enough already. I just wish I could've done better by her." 

By the time Lawrence has finished, he has soft tears trailing down his cheeks. You turn to Bigby for help on how to approach the burning topic. 

"Your wife is missing," Bigby half-lies, giving you a quick side glance. You stay silent, determined to let _him_ do all the talking. 

"What?" Lawrence breaths, before it looks like he realises what Bigby means, and you can see more tears fall from his lashes. "Oh, no. No... no, no, no, no... I knew this would happen... _fucking Georige.._ " 

"Lawrence, I uh..." 

Bigby trails off when he hears banging from the front door. Both you and the Sheriff turn abruptly, glance at each other, and then turn back to Lawrence. 

"Are you expecting anyone?" you ask hesitantly. Lawrence shakes his head 'no' and you look at Bigby, not knowing what to do. 

"I'll see who it is-" 

"No, wait," you whisper harshly, grabbing the hem of the Sheriff's sleeve. He allows you to pull him backwards and you both become more alarmed when you can hear whoever it is drop to their knees and start picking the lock. "We need to know why whoever's out there is breaking in," you reason to Bigby, before turning to Lawrence. "You don't know me but I'm a friend of Fabletown's," you plead "I promise I'll explain later, but for now, I need your help." 

Lawrence takes a second, before he answers, "What do I do?" 

"I need you to play dead." 

"What?" 

"Just trust me," you reason, "you can't move in your condition anyway, so just stay still and pretend to be dead. The second we figure out why they're here, Bigby will arrest them, so... please..." 

Lawrence glances past you at the door, the handle jiggling uncomfortably from outside, before he looks back at you and nods softly. You give him a thankful smile, and allow Bigby's hand on your arm to drag you into Lawrence's closet. 

It's small and suffocating inside the coat wardrobe--not because of the size, but rather, because of the hulking figure of the man beside you. In some sort of weird move, Bigby had decided that you should go in first, and he would step in after you. Of course, this meant that you were now thoroughly squished into the back wall, trapped between the closet walls and Bigby's broad back. Surely he must feel you pressed against him, right? Not only was it uncomfortable because it was extremely cramped, but because Bigby's back was muscular and hard, and did not make for the best padding. You put your hands on his shoulders, using them as leverage to lean up and speak. 

"Bigby, can you move up a little?" you try to hiss at him, but your voice loses all power when a figure forces their way through the door. 

You leave your hands on the Sheriff's shoulders, pulling yourself up so you can see through the gap in the wood a little better. The stranger is large, well rounded and tall, wearing a white shirt and a hat. It seems like Bigby recognises who it is, judging by the way you hear an almost painfully quiet growl escape his throat. You shush him quietly, focusing back on the way the stranger moves around the apartment, stopping in front of Lawrence before deeming him to be dead and manoeuvres behind the armchair to gaze at the portraits of Faith and her husband, snooping here and there. It's only when the stranger spots the cabinet that both _you and Bigby are hiding in_ and decides to make his way over that you panic. 

"Bigby, do something!" you hiss in fear, pushing his shoulders and hoping he acts quickly to avoid the two of you being caught. 

Bigby pushes the door of the wardrobe, yelling, "Hey!" at the intruder, who panics upon realising he's been caught. The door of the closet jams, giving the intruder a head-start, and he's out the front door just as Bigby forces the wardrobe door open and leaps after him in hot pursuit. 

"STAY HERE!" he yells over his shoulder, and you blink between Lawrence and the empty doorway, deciding to ignore Bigby's orders. 

"No way!" you shout back, flying out the front door after him, gripping the sides only to swing yourself partially back inside the apartment block to inform Lawrence; "we'll be right back!" before you're hightailing it out of there at breakneck speed. 

Bigby is a fast runner, and sprinting has never been one of your strong suits, but you force yourself to keep up as best you can, following the disappearing figure of Bigby down an alley at the end of the street. You see him throw himself through a door at the end of the alley, your lungs already erupting into flames, but you manage to follow, taking the stairs inside two at a time. The sound of broken glass and various objects being thrown is happening just above you, and you know it's the intruder who's trying to slow Bigby down. Reaching the top of the stairs, you turn to run down the corridor, surprising yourself when you manage to successfully vault over a large sofa blocking the entire hallway. There are two doors at the end of the corridor, and using blind judgement, you opt for the one on the left, the door slamming into the wall inside with the force of your opening. You catch sight of Bigby disappearing out of the window and running to the right. You lift your eyes to the heavens, ignoring the voice inside your head that argues you should probably stay inside, and clamber out of the window after the Sheriff onto the fire escape. As soon as you have, you can immediately spot the intruder _falling_ into a garbage dumpster, with Bigby leaping after him (whether it was on purpose or not is another matter) using the former as a cushion for his fall. Knowing that Bigby can more than likely handle it for now, you allow yourself a chance to breathe, only now realising how breathless you are. 

You lean over the metal railings of the fire escape, watching Bigby growl something unintelligible at the man while trying to regain his own breath. After a few minutes of talking, the man scrambles away from Bigby, ending up with his back against a garage door, while the Sheriff--despite being a smaller build in comparison to the man--looms over him. Without warning, Bigby lands a solid punch into the man's stomach, and it's only when you see an almost identical copy of the stranger walk up behind Bigby that you start to panic. Bigby doesn't see it coming, and you try to call out to him--to warn him--but your voice catches in your throat, dry from all the sprinting you've just endured. The second stranger punches Bigby deftly from behind and the wolf is out. Cold. The pair proceed to beat him for a few minutes, before a stately car pulls up, they jump in, and off they go. 

The whole time, you've been descending the fire escape, trying to stay hidden from sight because Lord knows you would be a _lot_ more worse for wear than Bigby after a beating like that--but it's difficult to stay silent and watch them attack the Sheriff who is unguarded. After weighing up the consequences if you jumped out and ordered them to stop, and the lecture you would most likely receive from Bigby afterwards, you opted for staying hidden. 

Once they had driven off, and you were certain they weren't coming back, you stepped out from your hiding place and walked over to the wolf, crouching down beside him. He was just lying there, looking all serene, despite his surroundings and the fact that he was sprawled amongst the various debris from his fall, he still managed to look ethereal. You smile when he makes a noise of pain. 

"Oh good, you're not dead," you note playfully, breathing a laugh and watching him squint up at you. "You looked almost peaceful." 

"Yup," he groans, hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

"Except, you're laying in a dirty alley." 

"Yup." 

"With an open wound on the back of your head." 

"Yup." 

There is a brief silence where you can almost hear the cogs inside his head try to piece the last few minutes together. When that fails, he turns his tawny gaze to you. 

"What happened?" 

"Well," you begin, "One guy hit you, then the other one started kicking you--" 

"That explains the ribs--" 

"Then they jumped into a car and drove off," you finish, offering, "Need a hand?" 

Bigby struggles, but is otherwise okay, and dismisses you with a wave. Once he has regained his balance and full stance, he stretches, and you hear his bones crack. It makes you a little uncomfortable, although you hide it from your features. 

"Well, we should make sure Lawrence is okay, and then head over to Toads," you decide. "He might have something that will get us back on the trail." 

"Lead the way," Bigby sighs, straightening his loose tie. 

A long night followed by an even longer morning. Would Fabletown ever let you catch your breath?


	12. The Toad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God damn, y'all are too kind, I swear I am not deserving of this ಥ_ಥ   
> The amount of love and support I've been receiving for this story is overwhelming, and you guys don't even understand how happy it makes me (✿◠‿◠)   
> Just knowing there people out there who actually enjoy reading my work is the best feeling ever, I can't even exlain asdfgHJKLSKJHDGAYHJ--  
> I love each and every one of you that reads and I love each and every one of you that leaves a kudos and I love each and every one of you that reviews (╥﹏╥)   
> Thank you so much for giving me the motivation to continue so that I never let you guys down (*^ -^*)  
> Okay, okay, enough of that mush, please enjoy the next chapter wooooo ~~ 
> 
>  
> 
> p.s i love u all ♡

"It looks even worse in the daylight..." you cringe, staring up at the gaping hole in Toad's apartment that had been hollowed out by Bigby. It was early in the morning by now, and the sun cast an unforgiving light onto the tenement blocks, hiding nothing from view. 

"I'm trying not to look," he grumbles, crossing the street as you pad after him. 

"It... doesn't look like anybody's here," you call to him, noting how quiet the apartment seemed compared to how panicked Toad sounded on the phone. 

"If we came all the way here for nothing..." Bigby growls, stepping up the stone stairs and through the front door, keeping it open for you to step through. 

The both of you stop abruptly when you hear sobbing -- from down the hall and behind a closed door. You cast Bigby a look and the wolf gives you one right back. 

"Alright, son, alright, he's gone, he's left, it's over now..." 

It's Toads voice -- that's unmistakable, but _why_ he's having to console his child is what you're here to find out. Bigby leads the way down the hall, stopping only when he's arrived before the door. 

"Is that... his son?" you ask quietly, worried. 

Bigby nods, "Toads? I think." And with that, he moves to open the door. 

It's unlocked... and not closed... so when Bigby moves his hand against the edge, it creaks open. You hear Toad shush his son, seeing him hurriedly move the boy into another room. When the door is fully open, Toad greats the two of you, albeit with a lackluster tone. 

"Bigby! And Miss... uh..." he trails off, thinking for a moment. You roll your eyes. You literally met him hours ago. 

"(Last name)," you remind, a little forcefully. 

"Yeah," he waved his hand, "Surely you didn't come all this way just for my bother?" he laughed a little awkwardly. 

"You called us," you reminded, your tone slightly sardonic. 

"Ah, right, right..." He mumbles. 

Bigby does what you now recognise as his authoritative stance -- folding his arms slowly, and staring out whoever he has to deal with. You would mimic him by folding your own, but you feel you would fall pitiably short in comparison, so you leave one hand resting on your hip. When Toad says nothing, Bigby continues to stare him out until the amphibian shifts uncomfortably. 

"Sorry, Bigby," he finally speaks, "It's embarrassing to have to admit, but, eh... I thought there was someone else in Woody's place. There wasn't though, not when I checked -- nothing but a leaky drain pipe. Imagination must have got the best of me. So, you know, false alarm," he laughs awkwardly, and you aren't buying any of it. "Sorry for dragging the two of you into this -- but thanks for coming, much appreciated." 

"Are you _sure_ there wasn't anyone here?" Bigby asks, his tone intentionally leading. 

"Not that I saw," he stutters, "a-a-and if there was, they didn't take nothing, so... you know... all's well that ends." 

"Is your son here?" you ask suddenly, making for the door -- until Toad subtly moves to block your path. 

"He's fine, miss (last name) -- just stubbed his little toe. Better swimmer than walker -- just like his father," Toad explains. 

You turn to Bigby, unsure of what to do next, looking for the sheriff to give you your next move. You open your mouth to ask Bigby if he wants to push this further, but Toad cuts you off. 

"So, I guess you'll be taking off now. No need to hang around here anymore. I mean, I'm sorry you came all the way here for nothing, but it was _nothing_ , really-" 

"Someone was here, and something's going on," Bigby interrupts, looming. "And just so this trip wasn't a _complete waste of time_ , I'm gonna look around a bit before we leave, okay?" 

Toad opened his mouth to respond -- more than likely to give the two of you another one of his excuses, but Bigby was quick to cut him off. 

"The longer you _talk_ , the longer this takes, so just..." he trails off, motioning with his hand, "stand over there and shut up." 

" _Alright, alright_ ," Toad sighs, "I just don't want to waste your time is all." Toad turns and walks away from the two of you to do what he's told, but not before he throws some of his classic salt over his shoulder, drawling, "Have a seat, have a cup of tea. _Whatever you like_. Just mind the upholstery while you're looking for _nothing_." 

"Yeah, sure thing," Bigby grits. 

"Oh, just so you know, Toad," you begin, watching the amphibian take a glance in your general direction as you point behind yourself at the door, "You're lock's busted. Like someone _really wanted in_. You probably forgot your keys or something right? Just kicked it in yourself?" 

Bigby immediately turns to examine the door. There's a whole piece of wood missing from where the handle should be, and now it makes sense to him why the door just creaked open with only the smallest bit of force. He has to swallow a scoff. You certainly were perceptive. 

"She's right," Bigby agrees. "Your lock _is_ busted. Like somebody kicked the door in." 

From your peripheral vison, Toad shifts, uneasy. 

"For Christ's sake," he curses, "The fucking lock's been busted for weeks, mate. Rotted just like everything else in this bloody building..." 

You look down at the floor to check just how 'rotten' Toad claims the building to be, and are surprised to see a broken lamp just inches from your shoes. You are certain you didn't knock it off the table _or_ stand on it... You wave a hand behind you, grabbing Bigby's attention and nod your head to the lamp. 

"And the lamp's broke, too," Bigby notes, squatting down in front of you to survey the broken pieces. 

"Fucking hell. Damn thing must have fell off the table," Toad explains. 

"Uh-huh," Bigby drawls, quirking a brow. "The lamp just _fell_ off the table?" 

Toad works up to give the Sheriff another excuse as you move around Bigby and past Toad, down into what looks like his living area. Besides the fireplace, a painting catches your eye, and as you move towards it, you feel Bigby follow you down. 

"What is this?" you ask, pointing to a dark stain in the bottom left hand corner.. 

Bigby leans in slightly, and you hear him sniff. You don't think you'll ever cease to be amazed with how incredible his senses are. 

The wolf turns to the Toad, asking nonchalantly, "You bleeding?" 

Ah, so it _is_ a blood splatter... 

"Why -- is that-?" 

"It's blood," Bigby finalises, "Still fresh." 

"Oh," Toad pauses, "Well, I cut me hand. Ran around like a tit trying to pick out a wrap. Must've got some on the furnishings..." Toad tries to make light of the situation, laughing, "Lamp in pieces, blood on the wall... it's awful, I know." 

"Sounds painful," Bigby notes, his voice neither here nor there. 

"Oi, don't you go mother Henning now!" Toad jokes, adding, "The wound didn't sit very long. Perks of being a Fable, I suppose... and a Toad." 

As if Bigby smells the lies, he turns around, instantly kneeling down to grab a metal stick that you realise is a fire iron. Bigby brings the tip closer to his face, noticing a dark stain. 

"There's more blood over here," he states. It's directed at you, but Toad chips in once again. 

"On the poker?" he asks. 

"Yeah," Bigby stands. "What happened?" 

"Ah, well... that's -- that's how it happened, didn't it?" Toad stumbles over his words. "I... I was poking the coals and it slipped a bit -- sliced open my foot like a seashell. Hurt like a shit, the ugly thing." 

The two of you steal a brief glance a Toads feet, seeing no injury or blood. Another lie. Toad notices how silent the both of you are, and folds his hands. 

"If you're going to say something, out with it." 

"You said you cut your hand -- not your foot," you recall, catching him out. Toad's eyes go wide as Bigby comes to stand beside you 

"A minute ago, you told us you cut your hand. Now you're saying you dropped it on your foot?" 

"Yeah, no, I did cut my hand," Toad squirms, "I cut my hand first, and that made me drop the damn thing on me foot. Ruinous flip of events, really," he laughs. 

You hear Bigby make a noise of disapproval from beside you. You feel his hand grab the back of your sleeve, tugging to move you backwards. When you do, he steps in front of you, lowering the fire iron in line with the blood stain and swinging it softly in an upwards movement, as if he was attacking someone. _Exactly the way the blood has splattered_. You make a knowing noise of realisation. 

"Oh my God, will you _not make a big faff outta this_!" Toad groans, trying to deter the two of you. "There's nothing to solve here, Sheriff, I'm telling you everything that happened! Why don't you believe me?!" 

Bigby slows his movements, giving Toad a serious side-eyed glance. 

"I think maybe you're hiding something," Bigby states seriously. 

"Hiding something?" Toad asks, a little too exasperatedly. 

"Maybe," Bigby drawls, "But, to tell you the truth, I don't know yet. But I know you're lying about _something_." 

"But I'm not-!" 

"And you're just gonna make it worse for yourself the longer you keep up the act," Bigby pressed. 

"I'm not bullshitting you -- honest!" 

"We'll see," Bigby glares, dropping the fire iron to the floor. 

You turn to investigative over by the window, looking out for even the most subtle thing that could be out of place. Of course, you're not as good as Bigby at spotting things, so it's only when the wolf joins you, and motions to lift the window that you see fingerprints from the outside, marking the windowsill. You toss him a look, pouting _I was gonna lift it_ , and he simply sighs, _sure you were_. 

"What is it now?" Toad calls, when he sees the two of you locked in a silent conversation. "If it's blood, you know what happened-" 

"It's not blood," you toss over your shoulder. 

"There's marks here on the windowsill," Bigby turns, raising his eyebrows. "What's that about?" 

"No... real reason," Toad shrugged. "Just last night, when I'd come out, I was in a downright tizzy, mate -- as you would be -- and I plum forgot the keys to this place. And I had to climb in through the bloody window." 

"Really," Bigby muttered. 

"Scared junior half to death," Toad laughed, scratching the back of his neck. 

"But why would you need keys?" you ask, pointing to the door. "You said it yourself, the lock on the door has been busted for weeks." 

Bigby folded his arms, waiting for an answer, feeling himself swell with something akin to pride at your ability to catch Toad out on his lies, although he suppressed it quite well. 

"Fucking hell," Toad groaned, "Just what the bloody hell are you on about? After the state I was in, I didn't have me head, that's all it was. I forgot the fucking handle was fucking busted. And I'll tell you what else -- it's embarrassing you bringing all this shit up, alright?! So quit it with the third degree and all that. I was looking forward to a nice morning, just me and my son, and you've taken up enough of the day with all this -- this sniffing around at me private belongings! I'm sorry I called, really, I am, but will you please, _please just bugger off_?!" 

You feel insulted at Toad's attitude. First he calls, scared half to death over the phone, acting like there was an intruder about to commit murder, and when you finally arrive -- albeit a little later than expected -- Toad has the audacity to tell you to leave? You huff, making your way towards the amphibian until your standing right in front of him. 

"How about we leave when you've told us the truth?" you quip back, feeling Bigby move to stand beside you. "You've been caught out in your lies, so just fess up already." 

"You say -- to my face -- that you think I'm hiding something from you?" Toad's voice turns a little dangerous and you have half a mind to just slap the truth out of him. 

"That's what we're saying," you force through gritted teeth. 

"We'll you've had the go of the room for a fair bit of time now. _Nothing's here_. So when? When are you gonna leave?" 

"Oh, there's _plenty_ here," you retort. "How about the kicked in door? Or the smashed lamp on the floor that wasn't plugged in anywhere near where it fell because the two plug sockets are already being used? Or maybe the angled splatter of blood -- which you wouldn't be able to make in a month of Sundays because it's at a height which exceeds your own -- unless someone much taller than you was the one who did it? 

"I feel like I'm on trial here-" 

"You are," you grit, "Now out with it!" 

"Just tell us the truth, Toad. Then we'll leave," Bigby states in a much calmer tone than you. How he's managed to stay calm this whole time is beyond you when you're over here ready to shake Toad until he comes clean. 

"I've told you the truth! I cut me hand, I broke the lamp-" 

"Toad. These _stories_ have made no sense. Miss (last name) is right-" 

At that moment, you hear the door to your right creak open, and Toad junior peeks round the corner, before walking over to his father. Toad turns to hug his son, and it's then that you and Bigby catch the trail of blood weeping from a wound on the back of his head. 

When Toad turns around, Bigby sighs, "Take off the hat." 

"You're bleeding," you explain, pointing to the back of your own head. 

Toad finally sighs, removing his hat to reveal a wound made from the fire iron. He takes a seat on a box behind him, finally realising he's going to have to come clean. 

"It was that... butcher, a Tweedle. Dum or Dee, you gotta strip them down to their johnnies before you can tell which is which," Toad explains. "He came barging in, screaming about something the Woodsman had, or thought he had... I don't know. He tore up the place, beat me up when I said I didn't have it. And if you had come when I asked you too, maybe he wouldn't have had the nerve to strong arm me boy." 

"They attacked your son?" you ask, turning to Bigby and frowning, adding sadly, "How awful." 

"What the hell does he care?" Toad quipped, sending Bigby a glare. "It's always the same with you, isn't it, Bigby? If I'm in trouble, need help, if I call about something, you always take the live long day to get here. What if he'd done something worse, eh? I'm tired of feeling trivial, mate. A lot of us are." 

There is a small voice inside of you that wants to state ' _if you have any complaints, direct them to the Woodlands Business office_ ' but you shush it quickly. 

"A wolf in Sheriffs clothing -- that's all you are," Toad mutters. 

"Hey," you cut in, kneeling down so you're face to face with Toad. "I completely understand that you might be angry with Bigby right now, but there isn't any need to insult him. He's trying his best with the little he has-" 

"You've only been here for five minutes, miss doe-eyes," Toad glares at you, pointing an accusing finger, his voice only just above a whisper when he adds, "You wait till you catch a glimpse of what he _really is_ \- then you'll be just as active about avoiding him as the rest of us are." 

"There isn't any need to whisper," you hush back in sarcasm. "Bigby has excellent hearing." 

You stand up, folding your arms. Bigby sighs. Clearly he deals with this on a daily basis, so it doesn't affect him as much as it does you. 

"What was he looking for?" the sheriff continues. 

"I have no idea," Toad answers, his voice more polite this time. "I would've told you -- I wanted to, I really did -- but he said if word ever got back to him, if he ever thought you knew, he'd come back and kill me boy. I even tried to give the bastard her coat. He wouldn't take it." 

Coat. Her Coat? 

"Whose coat?" you ask, just to be sure. 

"The girl," Toad replies. _Faiths_. 

"Dad borrows things from people who live here," TJ interjects suddenly, until his dad gives him a pointed look. TJ gulps, adding, "uh... sometimes...?" 

" _Borrows_?" Bigby questions. 

"I don't steal nothing," Toad quickly explains. "The turnaround here would astonish you, mate. I merely... reposes what's been left behind." 

"Sadly, we'll be taking the coat now," you explain. "If she has any next of kin... or family... it now belongs to them." 

"Alright, fetch them the fur," Toad orders his son. 

The boy skips over to the brick fireplace, before reaching up inside and pulling out the Donkeyskin shall. You walk over to TJ, thanking him, before grabbing the coat and laying it out flat on Toad's sofa. The amphibian makes a joke about how it's a 'nice bit of fur, but he wouldn't wear it outside' but both you and Bigby choose to ignore him. 

"Wait," the Sheriff calls to you, reaching below the head of the donkey to pull out a piece of paper. "It's an envelope," he realises. 

"Fucking hell, of course there is," Toad groans angrily. "With my luck it's a map to some bloody doubloons." 

"It looks like it's addressed to Prince Lawrence," you read on the letter, looking up at Bigby. "What should we do?" 

Without a word, Bigby tears the letter open, reading aloud, "I'm sorry. Faith." 

"What could she have been sorry about?" you wonder, frowning. 

"I don't know," Bigby replies, pocketing the letter. "But maybe Lawrence does." 

"Well, it's been quite a surprising day for all of us, hasn't it," Toad drawls. "I'd see you out, but I'm afraid of dripping anymore blood in the place." 

Without a word, Bigby turns to take his leave, stopping at the door only to wait for you. You toss Toad a look before kneeling down and smiling at TJ. 

"Thank you for looking out for your father, TJ," you praise. "He's very lucky to have such a brave son." 

The young frog smiles meekly back up at you as you stand, following Bigby out. Before you have a chance to fully cross the threshold of Toad's roam, he stops you. 

"And if you're looking for the Woodsman -- try down at the Trip Trap," he offers. 

You have no idea what that is, but Bigby seems to know, and he nods in thanks, making sure to close the door (as best he can) behind you. 

The mid-morning sun is low enough in the sky to make you squint as you step outside, and you raise a hand to shield your face. Bigby taps his cigarette packet, popping one into his mouth and lighting the end. 

"So..." you begin, feeling a slight gust of air cold enough to make you shiver and wrap your arms around yourself -- of course it would start to get cold when you had only a t-shirt to cover your body. "What now?" 

"You need to go back to the Woodlands and rest," Bigby orders, turning his head away from you to puff out smoke. "You haven't slept properly in a while." 

"I'm fine," you state, and almost as if on cue, you yawn. 

Bigby gives you an exasperated look, and you nod. 

"Yeah, okay fine, I'll go back to the Woodlands and sleep," you huff. "Should we split a cab?" 

"Sure," he sighs, "I can only go to the Tip Trap now anyway." 

"Not because of what Toad said? Listen, you've had about as much broken sleep as me for the past day and a half." 

"I can recuperate much quicker than you, remember?" 

"Oh yeah. Fable. I forgot," you lie. Honestly, you felt bad that he had to work so damn hard all the time, it seemed, without a moment to himself to rest properly. You wanted to be selfish and make him come back to the Woodlands with you so you could make sure he slept, but then, you didn't want for him to think you were mothering him. That was the last thing you wanted. 

"Come on, let's get a cab," Bigby interrupted your thoughts, waving his hand out to a passing driver, who slowed to a stop. He pulls the door open for you as you shimmy inside, watching him round the car to slide into the other side. "Woodlands apartments," he tells the driver, and suddenly, as the cab drives off, an uncomfortable silence falls between the two of you. 

You're pretty sure you've caused it -- what with your whining about him needing sleep, only to be reminded that he doesn't really need sleep. You're constantly berating him, you feel, and he must be getting sick of it. Either that, or he must feel that you're stupid enough to keep forgetting that he's superior to you in every way and that he has to keep reminding you of it -- which must also be annoying for him. You hate that there isn't any conversation, and so you think of something -- anything at all -- before you swallow down the anxious lump in your throat, and speak. 

"Do you ever-" 

"Listen, you don't-" 

The two of you glance awkwardly at each other, and then abruptly look away. Great. That was fun. There had been silence for about five minutes in which you could have picked any time to speak, but you just _had_ to open your trap when he was going to talk. Yet another thing to add to the list of 'How to annoy a Fable'. 

"Uh, sorry," you mumble, wincing slightly at how dreadfully pathetic you sounded. "Go on." 

"Oh," he makes a noise, clearing his throat and seems to become visibly more awkward, finishing, "You don't have to worry about me so much. I can take care of myself." 

His voice is soft and it holds no scolding tone or any kind of negative emotion, but you must have forgotten to hide your feelings, and he saw the look of dejection on your pretty face clear as day. He quickly backtracks. 

"Uh, I mean, _thank you for worrying_ ," his hands fidget in his lap, he gives a forced laugh, trying to twist the mood into a much lighter one. "No one really does, so I guess you have to take the whole burden by yourself." 

If anything, it makes you feel worse. Not only was he telling you to stop worrying, which made you feel stupid for doing so in the first place, he also admitted that no one worries or even cares about him or his safety. You're torn between feeling sorry for yourself, and feeling sorry for him. You attempt to create a box within your mind and hastily shove all your self-pitying emotions deep inside, making sure to bolt it shut. They're not needed right now, and they're just getting in the way of everything, causing you to think irrationally and making you act in an unprofessional manner. 

"I'll gladly take that burden," you all but whisper, but as soon as the words have left your lips, you realise there's no point in hushing them -- Bigby could probably hear a pin drop amongst the bustling streets of New York. You then proceed to mentally scold yourself for not engaging your brain before you speak, _yet again_. 

"You hardly know me," Bigby's voice suddenly drifts through the space between the two of you, and you look up, watching him stare out the window. He is quiet when he speaks, so much so, that you find yourself straining to hear him when he murmurs, "So why do you want to protect me so much?" 

There are more than a few moments that pass between you both, where you choose your words carefully, and he never turns from the window. You think it's because he doesn't want to show you his face, and by extention, he doesn't want you to read what emotion he's wearing. 

"Because it seems like you're not aware that you're hurting," you respond, this time it's your turn to look out of the window to avoid being sussed out. "When you're sad or angry, or when you feel alone because everyone's turned their backs on you. I completely understand that you might have done some awful things in the past -- but instead of wallowing in self pity or sorrow, you're in amongst everything, trying to protect everyone at any cost. You're risking your safety to chase the truth, and I don't understand why nobody can see how hard you're trying. How much you want to prove that you're not a monster." 

As soon as your mouth has closed, you wonder if this was the right time and place to lay your opinions face up on the table for him to scrutinize and pick apart. You sigh audibly, and he turns to face you, opening and closing his mouth because the words he wants to say don't seem to fully encapsulate what he feels well enough. He frowns angrily to himself when the taxi pulls up to the Woodlands apartment complex. You thank the driver passively, hand him some cash and step out the suffocating space without a backwards glance. When you hear the door of the cab shut, you breathe in a lungful of air, thankful to be out in the open. You start to walk away, only to stop when you hear the window roll down. A glance over your right shoulder shows Bigby leaning over as he speaks, throwing words out the window at you. 

"Thank you for this morning," he calls. "Your help, I mean. I really appreciate having you by my side. And thank you for believing in me." 

You say nothing, but give him a soft nod. He bids you goodbye and the taxi drives off into the busy city. It's midday, and your sleeping routine is completely messed up, but you're so exhausted that it's a struggle just to get to your apartment without collapsing. Once you allow yourself to become swallowed by the pillows and duvet of your bed, it's clear how sleep deprived you are. You try to process Bigby's words as you feel your subconscious slowly melt away into nothingness, and instead opt for focusing on the look he wore when he said he was thankful that you believed in him and how happy he seemed to be.


	13. The Trip Trap - Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello jellybeans, I am back with another chapter *celebratory dance* ~  
> I found out this week that I'm gradutating university with a 2:1 in my psychology degree~! I'm super proud of myself as you can imagine lol (✿◠‿◠)  
> Anyways, I hope this chapter is enjoyable and thank you FOREVER AND ALWAYS for the continued support! ♡♡  
> I have to admit, there are some parts of this chapter that I reaaaalllly enjoyed writing lol, but you'll find out when you read it ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)  
> Love you all ~ ♡

"That's gonna be $30." 

"Thirty?!" 

"You wouldn't stop mumbling to yourself in the back there. Kept distracting me from the road. Almost crashed twice." 

You scowl at the cab driver through his rear view mirror. He just gives you a blank emotion, waiting for you to pay. You weren't even embarrassed that he'd heard your angry muttering, like you normally would be. 

"Fine," you growl, tossing him the thirty bucks that Bigby had given you for 'recuperation money', "Take it." 

You snap the door of the cab open, stepping out and not even tossing the driver a backwards glance as he pulls off into the night. At least he's taken you to exactly where you asked... The Trip Trap. So it _was_ a bar, just like you thought... 

After your full 8 hours that left you feeling a damn sight better than you thought it would, you crossed the hall of your apartment complex to tap a soft knock on Bigby's door. The immediate voice of Colin drawled back sarcastically; "He's not in, Miss. _H. F. R. O.,"_ to which you muttered an angry, " _Glamour,_ " in response. So Bigby wasn't back yet... and the place he had told you he was going to search for the Woodsman was the Trip Trap. 

1 + 1 = 2. 

Bigby must still be at the Trip Trap. 

Or something bad has happened to him... 

Or, as you _hoped_ , he had taken a wander before hand, or had decided to run some errands... or do Sherriff things. 

The sky was slowly adorning pale shades of red and pink, flushed from the days heat as the sun set behind the city. You sighed out a visibly cold breath that fogged up the otherwise humid air. You frowned. That was weird. Why can you see your breath when it's the middle of summer? Your mind must have been playing tricks on you, because a second later when you focused all your attention on the air in front of you, your breath was clear as day, no misty condensation leaving your lips at all. 

Feeling like it was simply a trick of the mind, your attention was quickly captured by the overwhelming feeling of not wanting to be out in the open anymore. The Trip Trap bar seemed to be calling you, and not thinking that this part of the Bronx might harbour all manor of dark and less than honest fables, you stumbled down the stone steps and gently pushed open the door. It was the immediate smell of alcohol and strong tobacco that assaulted your senses, but you pushed forward through the dizzying smells, taking in the classic bar décor. 

Pool table: check. Dart board: check. Overwhelming feelings of uncomfortableness: check. 

And as if it was some kind of unconscious reaction that your body had grown accustomed to, you knew that Bigby was inside. Whether it was the hairs on the back of your neck giving you a warning or the thick atmosphere that made it hard to breathe, one way or another, Bigby was _here_ , right now, or he had just left. 

"The word around town is that you've got yourself a new Little Red," Someone seemed to sneer from the other side of the room. You weren't sure if they could see you or not, but you decided to hug your back against the wall separating the rest of the room from the entrance way just in case. 

The voice sounded familiar, but you couldn't remember who it was from or where exactly you had heard it before. 

"Or is it that you've gone soft for a Mundy-?" the voice jeered. 

"Why don't you just _shut up_." 

Bigby's voice was instantly recognisable and it urged you to peer round the corner of the wall, immediately locating the broad back and shoulders of the Sheriff, slouched on a stool by the bar. From the way he had his elbows on the countertop and his foot propped up on the barstool's footrest spoke volumes of how he was trying to retain a calm demeanour, despite the man to his left throwing verbal jabs and trying to get a reaction out of him. 

It must have been the way you were looking at him, or maybe it was just the way you released a silent heavy breath that you didn’t even know you were holding, but Bigby tilted his head ever so slightly to the left, and you saw his entire posture shift dramatically. He was tense. He was tense because he had just realised that you had walked into the very bar he had specifically tried to get you to stay out of. He attempts not to draw attention to himself, and hoped to whatever deity was up there that you saw he had things under control and just turned around and walked out the bar. But the way he was staring dead in front of himself, unblinking, made Gren realise there was something wrong. 

The fable immediately turned around and caught you peeking out from behind the wall of the bar. You made a noise of fright, but Gren simply chuckled darkly. 

"Well, well, well, look who the fuck it is," he slaps his thighs, adding darkly, "Did you skip all the way through the city just to fetch your mongrel back?" 

You clearly don't have a handle on your emotions, when you feel anger and annoyance announce themselves to you quite clearly at Gren's words. You move out from behind the wall, and take a few steps into the middle of the room, watching the barmaid eye you suspiciously when you fold your arms and stare at Gren hard. 

"Wo~w," Gren whistles obnoxiously loudly, clearly having had too much to drink. "Now that I've got a better look at her face, I can see why you keep her around-" 

"Gren," the woman warns, but she goes unheard. 

"Are you gonna eat her up, just like you tried to do to your last Little Red? If you don't, somebody might beat you to it," he heavily insinuates. 

Bigby ignores him, feeling an anger like no other start to rage within him at the comments, and he's scared he might do something he regrets in front of you. Instead of saying anything, he slides off his barstool and turns to make his way over to you, where he feels much more able to protect you if needed... but Gren's hand on his chest stops him from going anywhere. 

Before he can engage his brain, he growls threateningly, "Last fella that put his hand on me ended up with an _axe in his head_." 

"Last fella I put my hand on, ended up _in the ground_ ," Gren snarled, and you were almost sure you were about to witness your very first bar fight in the flesh. 

The two stare at each other in what looks like some sort of showdown, until all four of you hear a toilet flush from behind a door to the right of the bar. The barmaid and Gren toss each other a look, and low and behold, _the Woodsman steps out_. 

"Holly, you're out of toilet paper in the..." 

He stops abruptly when he sees Bigby standing before him. You've never felt second hand awkwardness _this badly_ until right now, when the Woodsman tries his hardest to look _anywhere but at the two of you_ as he slides into the seat furthest from anyone. You notice Gren's hand push off from Bigby's body with _much_ more force than necessary and you're about ready to grab Bigby before he jumps on this man, but to your surprise, he doesn’t. 

Instead, he gives you a pointed look. _Stay in that exact spot so I know where you are_. You give him a brief nod in response. 

Bigby moves to take the seat besides the Woodsman, drawling, "Saved your beer for you. Holly wanted to clear it, but I said, no, he'll be back. Now here you are." 

The Woodsman takes a swig of the aforementioned beer, before sighing, "You and me have been going at it for hundreds of years... I'm through fightin'." 

"Well, Woody," Bigby huffs, "That makes two of us." 

"I guess you wanna know about the girl?" the Woodsman susses. 

"Amongst other things, sure," Bigby shrugs. 

"Y'know, I'd walked past her place for weeks," the Woodsman began. "She didn’t look like it, but she had money. I was sure of it. And she wouldn’t put up any kinda fight. I was gonna rob her. And the night I finally get up the nerve to do it, there you are, fuckin' things up for me. You were just at the wrong place at the wrong time." 

"What are you talking about exactly?" Bigby asks, a little confused. So he was going to rob Faith? 

"Red Riding Hood... her Grandmother. I was there to rob them... when I showed up you were already there... lying in the bed." 

As serious as this situation was at the present moment, your mind created a rather crude representation of Bigby in old lady clothes, pretending to be Red Riding Hood's grandmother all tucked up in her bed and you suddenly had to use _a lot_ of willpower to supress a laugh. 

"I only saved her because I thought she might give me a reward... but she didn't give me shit," the Woodsman explained. 

What a dramatic twist that would have on the ancient tale. Both Bigby _and_ the Woodsman were the villains of that story... 

"Listen, did you kill Faith or not?" Bigby presses for answers, becoming restless. 

"What? Faith? Who's that?" 

"The girl you were beatin' on this morning," Bigby reminds. 

"No. No, no, no," the Woodsman panics, explaining frantically, "I was here! I swear!" 

"It doesn't look good when a girl you were just smakin' around shows up dead hours later," Bigby forces. 

You catch the barmaid, Holly, turn to give the Woodsman a wide eyed stare in poorly hidden shock. 

The Woodsman turns in his seat to better face Bigby, explaining with a sad voice, "She's dead? Bigby listen... I'm a piece of shit, okay... I know that. I hit that girl. I did. I shouldn't have but... I didn't kill her! You believe me, right?" 

"He was here," Gren interrupts, slamming his fist on the countertop. "That's the fucking truth, Sheriff." 

"You see!" the Woodsman nods frantically, "Bigby please. You can't. They'll throw me down the Witching Well. That's what they'll do, and I didn’t do it! You _know that_." 

You stand there, feeling like the Woodsman is being truthful. There's no way you can know for sure, but something tells you that he isn't lying. 

"Why don't you sit down," Holly tosses somewhere in your direction, adding with a dismissive wave of her hand, "You're making me uncomfortable." 

You're about to answer her and politely refuse, saying you're fine where you are, but Gren jumps in before you can even open your mouth. 

"Her pet mongrel told her not to move a fuckin' muscle," Gren smirks darkly, laughing, "And she's actually doing what she's told! Can you believe that? I'm beginning to wonder who actually wears the pants between the two of these fucks." He stands abruptly, towering over a seated Bigby, and the Woodsman clearly picks up on his intentions. 

"Hey! Stop! This isn't what I want-" 

"Shut the _fuck up, Woody_!" Gren yells, seething, "Shit ain't just about you. It's about this fuckin' lap dog and his harlot _bitch_. He only comes sniffing around this part of town when the rich fucks in the Woodlands need a shakedown. Ain't that right, Bigby?" 

At the mention of 'lap dog' Bigby tilts his head to throw the man a dangerous look that goes unnoticed, but when Gren calls you derogative slurs, his entire back goes rigid. Even you become a little afraid of what he'll do next. 

"Holly's sister goes missing and no one gives two shits about her," Gren continues, "Paperwork, waiting rooms, and all that just to get ushered out the fuckin' door. You think you're hot shit just because you've teamed up with a Mundy," he jabs an accusing finger at you, hissing, "but you're only happy because this fuckin' bitch _swallows whenever you tell her too_ -" 

As soon as the words have left Gren's mouth, Bigby had jumped out of his seat and punched him square in the jaw, sending the Fable flying backwards over a stood and falling to the floor. Your eyes become wide at the sudden act of brutality and you make a move towards Bigby, but he holds up a hand to stop you, not even sparing you a glance. 

Gren rubs his jaw slightly from his position on the floor, propping himself up and jeering, "Is that all you got?" 

"Seemed to be enough," Bigby shrugs. 

"Don't be so sure." 

There is a bright hue of emerald that causes you to squint, holding up a hand to shield your eyes from the light, and when you look back, Gren has morphed into his true form; a tall and hulking pale monster that walks up to Bigby on all fours. It's teeth are long and sharp and it's eyes are milky with no pupils. The sight causes you to stumble backwards into the pool table, frightened, and you have a deep desire to grab Bigby by the hem of his shirt and sprint out of the bar as fast as humanly possible, but your legs are solid and your body _isn't moving_. 

"Should've walked out of here when you had the chance," it grows, face inches from Bigby, who, much to your horror, doesn't seem fazed by the situation at all. You can't help but notice another burst of iridescent green that kicks your heartrate higher than it already is as Holly changes shape behind the bar. When you blink furiously in her direction, she appears strikingly similar to what you would imagine a Troll to look like, complete with horns and long claws. 

Instead of trying to diffuse the situation, Bigby nods his head in your direction, asking, "She's a Mundy - just, let me get her out of here before-" 

His only response is a sharp upward whack from Gren's large arm that sends him tumbling backwards, knocking stools over and slamming into the bar. 

You watch him whip his head round to you in panic, and with wide eyes he yells, "Get out of h-!" but before he can even fully finish his warning, Gren's hand manages to fit entirely around Bigby's body, yanking him backwards and thrusting him into the ceiling. You are entirely horrified by what you're seeing, and the events unfold so quickly that you're sure your brain is buffering just trying to process it all. 

Somehow, as Gren crushes Bigby into the ceiling, the sheriff manages to grab a hold of the fan, ripping it from its place and throwing it into his attacker. It just seems to bounce off the monster, who, in turn, slams the Sheriff into the ground. Bigby has no time to recuperate, only managing to push himself off the floor slightly, but it looks like Gren has just realised you’re standing in a vulnerable position, and launces Bigby _directly at you_. You only just manage to avoid him by hitting the floor as fast as you can, before scrambling to your feet and sprinting out of the way, running to the door of the bar and slamming your back against it so you can watch the events unfold. 

You can hear Gren approach Bigby -- who's now a crumpled heap against the walls of the bar struggling to stand -- with thunderously loud footsteps, and you're so lost in this moment that the fact that Gren shoves the pool table with intent to kill Bigby only registers in your mind _after_ it has already happened. You can only watch the Sheriff jump, agile as ever, onto the table, only to give Gren a wide haymaker that connects sharply... but does nothing. He is met with a sharp swing from Gren's arm and there is a resounding crack, as Bigby slides towards you. You can't run or jump over him because there isn't enough time or even space to do so, but instead, you try to lower yourself to catch him. Wrong decision. You weren't aware that Bigby was _so heavy_ , and when his body slams into yours, you end up getting pinned against the door of the bad, your entire body crushed under the weight of the wolf. 

Presently, you're in full-blown panic mode, because god knows you _physically cannot protect yourself_ from such ferocious aggressors, and the one person who _physically can_ is currently doing a very _very_ bad job of protecting _himself_ let alone anyone else, and the thought of how Bigby might not be able to protect you frightens you much more than you thought it would. 

In some sort of flimsy and panic-fuelled attempt to bring Bigby to his senses, you frantically slap his shoulders, pushing him upwards as you follow suit, only for your field of vision to momentarily catch a wooden chair hurtling towards the two of you; curtesy of Gren. Bigby let's his reflexes take the wheel and you feel him grip the collar of your shirt, pulling you both to the ground fast, just as the aforementioned chair whizzes by your head and breaks forcefully against the wall. The next thing you know and you're being crushed behind his back as he presses you solidly to the wall on his right, between a wall-mounted telephone and a coat rack, only just managing to dodge another attack in the form of a wooden table that has your brain mumbling in a daze; _'Probably a matching set...'_

Gren has no respect for other peoples property (or their _lives_ for that matter) when he rips the telephone booth from it's wall-mounted position and sends his claws for your face. As stunned as you are, you are not quite as stunned as you are when Bigby steps in front of you, wielding the coat rack from before, and thrusts the pointed end straight into Gren's face, pushing him backwards and away from you. The monster seems unfazed, despite the amount of blood that's oozing from the wound Bigby made, and raises his arm to thrust it downwards, snapping the coat rack as if it were nothing and pulling the large chunk of wood that was stuck in his forehead from out of his face. You feel your legs give way as Bigby is grabbed by the ankle and swung around like a rag doll into the roof, straight down to the floor, and generally into anything that Gren thinks will cause him the most amount of pain. You shuffle backwards frantically when Gren swings Bigby into the ceiling straight over your head and you're left to do nothing but watch as the Sheriff falls to the floor, unconscious and stained with his own blood. 

Gren turns, his large hand still clamped around Bigby's ankle, now focused only on dragging the wolf away from you, but you feebly rock forwards onto your knees, grabbing the Sherriff's shirt by his shoulders and tugging him towards you, thinking somehow you can win in a tug of war with something as monstrous and hulking as Gren. You let out a sob when Bigby simply slips from your grasp like he was water, and perhaps it's because you weren't holding him tight enough, you think, so you crawl forward to take him by the hands this time, unaware that your tears are collecting under your chin and dripping into the smears of his blood. 

"No, no, no," you choke silently, gripping his wrists as tight as you can, "please wake up, Bigby..." 

You tense your whole body, hoping that, with the added weight of yourself, it'll be enough to make Gren give up and let go, but of course it's not. Your weight is next to nothing for him, and you end up sliding forward too, your knees scuffing against the hard wooden floor. 

Until everything grinds to a halt suddenly and you have to release Bigby's wrists and use your own hands to catch yourself before you fall on top of him. You steady yourself, pushing off of the ground to look around at why you've stopped, only to realise there are fresh and deep claw marks where you're kneeling. You frown. But when Bigby makes a low, guttural noise, you become acutely aware of how his hair is now a lot more untamed, and his nails have become _claws_. You fall back slightly onto your butt, watching Bigby rise like he's been reborn, and when he lifts his head, his entire face is raw and animalistic. His eyes are a piercing yellow, and his teeth are sharp. You won't allow yourself to admit it, but somewhere deep down inside you, _you're actually a little afraid of him_ when he looks at you with such anger. He seems to recognise you, watching you sit there gaping at him, and his eyes flash dangerously toward the door. Your mouth is hanging slightly open and your eyes are wide, but you have grabbed enough of your sense to realise he's giving you an opportunity. He's trying to tell you to _run away_. You nod vigorously, scrambling to your feet and launch yourself straight out of the bar and into the cold night air. 

You double over, hands on your knees to capture your breath and regain your composure. 

What in the _holy hell_ just happened. 

You can hear your heart thumping a fast-paced rhythm, and you realise that for the first time since you've been working with Bigby, in that moment, you were truly scared. Scared and afraid for his safety, not just your own, and it was a sickening feelings that left your face void of colour and your body coated in sweat. 

You make to walk further from the bar, but something stops you. And it's something you can't quite understand. It’s like a soft pull, a tug at the edge of your conscious, lingering just past where you can see - like spots in your vision that dart away each time you try to focus on them, but you remain aware that they're hiding just until you look away. You turn back slowly to stare down the glowing sign of the Trip Trap and in a fleeting, split second decision that felt like it had an entire lifetime of reasons behind it, you bolt back to the building, back to where _he_ is -- because you cannot leave him. Even if he knows he can handle things himself. Even if he knows he's doing the right thing. Even if he knows he cannot let you to see him like this.

You return anyway. 

Because that's what twin souls do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //BOOM//  
> ending on a cliffhanger ≧◡≦


	14. The Trip Trap - Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooooooooo sorry for the lateness of this chapter T-T, I didn't mean to keep everyone waiting on a cliffhanger for a long time :'( Hopefully part 2 makes up for it... ♡  
> thank you again for the continued support ~ ♡

There is no sense of danger for you when you burst back through the doors of the Trip Trap. You don’t know why, but you choose not to question it right now, focusing more on the events that are happening directly in your line of sight. You keep yourself hidden as best you can, and Bigby has his back to you, so you hope that he'll be too distracted to notice that you've disobeyed him. 

You watch Gren charge directly at Bigby, but the Sheriff grapples with him, easily countering the force of Gren's body weight by slicing a deep slash in the monsters shoulder with his claws. Gren let's out a noise of pain, stumbling blindly into the wall and breaking almost everything in his path. Bigby wastes no time in letting his opponent regain his balance, throwing himself on Gren's large back and digging his claws deeply into his flesh, pausing only to lift and arm and swipe his sharp nails through Gren's face, following up with a deep slice into the monster's neck. Bigby is no longer controlled and caged, but untamed and raw in his movements. It seems that no matter what Gren does, Bigby is able to counter it and attack with much more ferocity. 

You find yourself unable to look away as Gren desperately tries to rid himself of the wolf clawing at his spine by crushing him against the wall of mounted pool cues, snapping a few clean in half and giving Bigby an ample opportunity to seize the object an thrust it deep within Gren's shoulder, broken end first. It's becoming increasingly difficult to watch as Bigby slides off his attacker, and snaps Gren's leg at the knee cap, showing no remorse in his yellow eyes. Gren is all but defenceless after going 5 minutes against the wolf, and what shocks you most out of everything you've seen, is how Bigby ignores the Woodsman's plea that Gren has 'had enough' and proceeds to _tear Gren's arm straight out of its socket._

The monster screams in agony, but such is the raw force of the wolf, he cannot fight back or do _anything but submit_ , and allow Bigby to wrench his limb from his body. 

There is an immediate image of red that greets you, and you wish you could look away, but it's as if you're frozen in place, being punished for all your sins by being forced to watch the sickly image of a dark red that mars the floor, and listen to the squelch and sick pop of Gren's arm as it dislocates itself and falls limply to the floor below. It's heart-breaking to watch, and you're torn between running to comfort Gren as he cradles the hole where his arm used to be, and being afraid of what Bigby could do to you if you make him jump by appearing out of nowhere all of a sudden. 

"I'm the lap dog, huh?" he growls, his voice a deep guttural rumble in his throat, bending down to scoop Gren's arm up from the floor before tossing it away, snarling, "Here, fetch." 

But the look of utter shock that crosses Bigby's features when he realises you're standing in the bar, _and not outside like he thought you were_ , is such a contrast to how angry his face was moments before, that it almost makes you forget that Gren's arm has landed _directly in front of you_. You have to stumble backwards slightly to avoid the torn-off-limb from scuffing your shoes, and when you look up at Bigby, you feel bile rise quickly in your throat. The willpower from somewhere allows you to keep it down, but you're having an extremely difficult time meeting his eyes right now after the act of brutality you just watched. 

The Woodsman must have thought that Bigby threw Gren's arm at you on purpose, and coupled with the act of tearing off Gren's limb itself prompts him to yell, "You _fucking monster!_ " 

The bar is stale and silent, thoughts voiced only by Gren who's sobbing in agony on the floor, and everyone else's heavy breathing. You finally meet Bigby's eyes, piercing and yellow, and it's the first time you've seen him look genuinely afraid, not because of what he has done, but because you have _seen what he has done_. 

He is afraid that you are now just like everyone else. That you see him how everyone else sees him. That _you are afraid of him_. 

And you can _feel_ that he is afraid that what he has done has caused you to turn on him. 

But you have not. 

And so you step over Gren's limb, striding forwards, finding the courage from your heart to look him in the eyes and see past _the wolf_ that's growling and snapping at you to stay back, and wrap your arms around _Bigby_. Your arms stay soft, gently bringing him towards you with a delicate force because you are afraid if you move too fast, he'll scatter. He is tense and rigid, and all but shocked at your display of affection when he was expecting the complete opposite. You rest your head just under his, listening to the loud thump of his accelerated heartbeat. 

"It’s okay," you whisper, smoothing his back softly until he changes form beneath your palms. "Everything is okay now. It's finished. It's over. You can relax now, Bigby. It's okay." 

When you pull back, he has returned to the form you recognise and know, and it is out of place amongst all this chaos, but you offer him a soft smile, stepping backwards and releasing him from your hold. Bigby releases a sigh, but it's a peaceful one, and gives you a stare that you cannot place. He rubs his temples, and, of all the times he could have done this, proceeds to fold his arms. 

"I told you to get out of here!" he bellows at you suddenly, and you're a little take aback if you're honest. 

"Pardon me?" you question airily, confused. 

Bigby takes a step towards you, and you notice the Woodsman and Holly flinch, waiting for round 2; this time between yourself and the Sheriff. You have a hard time trying not to roll your eyes. 

Bigby looming over you as you shrink slightly. "Before anything started, I told you to run, but _you_ didn't listen!" 

You suddenly realise what he's going on about, and stutter, red-faced, "I-I know!" You throw your hands up, adding, "I'm sorry, okay! Everything started happening really fast and I couldn't think straight! Plus you went all wolf-like and that was surprising, because I really didn't expect it to happen that fast... actually I didn't really expect that to happen at all-" 

"You're not coming with me next time I have to go out and find suspects," he bluntly decides, staring you down. 

"What?!" you yell, "No, no, no, that's not how it works. _I'm_ your partner, _we_ do things _together_ -" 

"What you are is someone who doesn't listen-" 

"Well, you’re someone who looses his temper-" 

"I did not loose my temper, I was provoked-" 

"Prevoked?! Please, this right here was you loosing your temper-" 

"Things would have been much worse if I _had lost my temper_ -" 

"Things _are_ pretty bad-" 

Holly and the Woodsman watch the two of you bicker back and forth for a good five minutes, utterly surprised at how easily it was for you to calm Bigby down. Not only that, but you're vocally jousting with him as if poking the wolf isn't going to end with you receiving a nasty bite. As if you know he wont do anything to you, because you're on the same level as him, and suddenly, the only thing Holly can remember in that moment, is an ancient story she recalled from somewhere; _about a girl who was invisible to the world, but could tame the wolf and become his moon._

The Woodsman makes for the toilets to presumably escape, but Bigby's senses are sharp, and he throws the Woodsman a dangerous look from over his shoulder, warning, "Don't even think about it." 

"Is this the type of treatment I can expect if I let you take me in?" the Woodsman nods his head in the direction of Gren, who is still sobbing on the floor, clutching his arm socket. 

"If you run, it'll be worse. Trust me," Bigby replies, giving him a strong look. 

You almost leap out of your skin when the door to the bar swings open. Bigby is quick to swing you round behind him, and you peek out from over his shoulders, watching a man strikingly similar to the one Bigby chased earlier today saunter in. 

"Alright," he starts, not looking up and counting the money in his hands, "I got a hundred bucks for the first person that can tell me something about a girl named..." 

Gren's sobs cause him to stop dead in his tracks and he quickly drinks in the image of Bigby, your eyes peeking over his shoulder, the Woodsman ready to bolt and Holly fully transformed. 

"Fuck," he mutters. 

At the same time, both the man in front of you and the Woodsman take the opportunity to bolt as fast as they can, and something inside you causes you to push Bigby in the direction of the newcomer. Tossing a final look over your shoulder as the Bigby sprints after your suspect, you watch the Woodsman disappear out the back of the bar and into the night. You curse under your breath, but you're relieved that the Sheriff has pinned the man against the wall, cuffing and successfully capturing someone who might be able to give you some more leads in this case. 

"I _told you_ , I didn't do it," the man forces as Bigby marches him out of the bar. 

"Then you've got nothing to worry about," you sing back, catching up to the Sheriff and walking shoulder to shoulder with him out into the night. 

You're headed back in the direction of the Woodlands, you don't ask why, but you know Bigby has his reasons, so you stay quiet, following obediently, until flashing lights up ahead spark a cause for concern. 

"What's going on?" you ask Bigby quietly, noticing the alarm on his face too. 

"Not sure," he replies, shoving the cuffed man against a nearby lamppost, securing him in place before warning, "Do anything stupid and I'll throw you down the witching well myself." 

You recognise the sirens of more oncoming cars, and realise the lights belong to police cars. You and Bigby give each other worried looks as you round the corner and take in the scene before you. Police tape is an immediate bad sign, not to mention the sheer number of police cars surrounding the entrance to The Woodlands. As you move closer, both you and Bigby manage to pass under the police tape undetected, and everything seems to go in slow motion. Bigby unconsciously moves closer to you as you do the same, walking down the pathway leading to the entrance of the Woodlands, where a group of officers are hunched over the stone steps, blocking the view of anything, but Bigby manages to peer through the gap, and when he stumbles back, eyes wide and not responding when you call his name, it urges you to peek through the gaps to see for yourself. 

The glassy eyes of Snow White peek back, her eyes dull, just like Faiths, but instead of reflecting the darkness, she reflects your own horror back up at you. You trip backwards into Bigby, turning to hastily vomit on the grass besides you, because things have went from bad to utter hell in such a short space of time, you cannot even bare to comprehend anything that's going on. Because Snow White was alive a few hours ago, and the last thing she said to the two of you was to "take care of each other" and so you cannot bare to think of her pretty face and her kind aura being swallowed by death and darkness, and you know it's selfish of you, but you cannot find the strength to stop crying. So you sit, knees splayed, tears collecting under your chin and dropping onto your shirt and cry against Bigby, who has said nothing since he collapsed beside you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaaand that marks the end of Episode 1 of TWAU~!  
> I'm working on writing the chapters for Episode 2 as we speak (...or read...?) so hopefully *crosses fingers* it should be out soon!  
> Chapter 2 is where we start getting deeper involved in the mysteries and plot of the story so I hope I can capture that well in my work (✿◠‿◠)  
> Until then my lovelies~! ♡


	15. The Victim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the second episode of The Wolf Among Us... aka chapter 15 lol. Back with a bang let's gooooooo ~~~~
> 
> I've also got an Ask.fm if any of you lovely people have any burning questions about this story, or any other stories, or me – tho tbh I don’t know why lol I'm boring as hell *cries* - feel free to ask away ~ https://ask.fm/Full_Fire 
> 
> Here's a few reasons why this story wasn't updated in literally 4292536 years;  
> I was in Asia lol  
> I graduated (also lol)  
> I had like 2 Skype interviews for a job I REEEEEEAAALLY want overseas (and I haven't been so nervous in my life)  
> I volunteer at one of my local primary schools  
> But most importantly: I AM LAZY. I fell out of writing for a bit bc I was reading various other fanfics online written by authors far more talented than I am, and it made me feel a little disheartened... BUT what's the point in wallowing in sadness. After kicking myself in the butt, I realised I had a lot of people waiting on this... so, ultimately, I can't let you guys down. Sorry again for the HUGE wait for this, but rest assured, I'm back with a vengeance!!!
> 
> I've also created a poll regarding this story ~ if anyone wants to answer it, it's right over [here!](https://goo.gl/bW5MtM)

"Miss...?" 

It was cold in here too. Maybe a little too cold. 

"Can you hear me...?" 

Did they have the air con on? Maybe they were all sensitive to the heat or something. 

"I asked you a question-" 

"Sorry, what?" your voice sounded disembodied. "I... didn't hear you... I don't think..." 

Dazed, you found your concentration to be no longer present on anything in this room, and when you became aware of that fact, your surroundings materialised into view faster than expected and almost knocked the breath from your lungs. 

"Where am I?" you asked absent-mindedly, staring at the metal table in front of you with a lost expression. 

The man before you seemed a little taken aback by your sudden lack of awareness. He tossed a confused look to his right, towards a large all-black window that you couldn't see out of. 

"You're in a police station," he responded slowly, pushing a polystyrene cup filled with water towards you a little less than discreetly, continuing, "and I was asking you how you knew the victim." 

Victim? 

You blinked. 

What victim? 

The lights flickered unnaturally, stealing your gaze. 

It was as if you'd forced yourself to forget how to breath, and only now did your lungs inhale a sharp breath of reality that brought you crashing back into the present. Unfortunately, the memories of the past hour followed suit. 

You immediately shut down, recognising the full weight of the situation and where you were currently located. 

"I... uh... I don't know..." you mumble, the camera in the corner recording your every movement became something that stole your gaze. 

"Look, miss (last name)," the man spoke again, leaning back in his chair and running a hand over his face. "The sooner you tell me the details, the sooner we can both-" 

"I didn't really know her," you snap, shifting in your chair and folding your arms. You move your gaze to the two-way mirror on your left, pretty sure that you were being watched from behind the glass and glare at it. "I didn't really know her at all..." 

"Well, from the reaction you gave earlier upon sight of the victim, I think we can both agree that's not the case." 

"It was a shock," you admit, blinking hard to wipe the memory from your eyes. "That's all. I'm not used to seeing things like that..." 

A small part of you wonders if Bigby is getting the same kind of treatment you are, and how he's handling all the questions. You then promptly question why you're more focused on Bigby than you are at keeping your concentration within these four walls. There are more pressing issues to think about. The mystery is still unsolved. If anything, it's just become a lot deeper, and the worst place to be is stuck somewhere where you can't try and solve it. 

"Look, it's been a long and extremely stressful night for me," you begin, shifting down in your seat and crossing your legs. "I really just want to go home, so if we could-" 

"What was that?" the detective before you cut in, glancing around the room suddenly. 

"What was what?" you query, turning slightly to follow his gaze. There was nothing out of the ordinary in the room that would cause him to become alarmed, and so you drag your gaze back to stare warily at him. 

"That _noise_... Can you hear it?" he whispers, eyes going wide. 

"Uh, I... I can't hear anything...?" you respond, your voice trailing off towards the end. You really _couldn't_ hear anything, so what was this guy's deal? 

He lets out a sudden noise of agony, cringing, and brings his hands up to cover his ears, gasping for breath. You're a little taken aback by the swift change in his demeanour, and how he appears to be in a lot of pain. You hear two distinct _thuds_ to your left, realising that whoever was behind the two-way mirror had collapsed, and you open your mouth to alert the detective in front of you, when he collapses too. There are a few seconds of abrupt silence where you stare hard at the unconscious man before you, and like everything was timed perfectly since the first time you met him, Bigby bursts through the door. He's a little out of breath, in his frantic search for you, but when his eyes meet yours, he straightens out, and releases a hard breath. 

"Come on,” he motions towards himself with his hand, “we're getting out of here.” 

You don’t say anything, simply responding to him with a distinct nod, before you’re out of your seat and by his side. 

It made you feel pretty pathetic when you had to grasp onto the idea that Bigby was so panicked because he was _searching for you_ , and only once he'd found you did he relax. You become acutely aware of Ichabod Crane looming behind Bigby once the two of you exit the room, and your mood instantly takes a plummet. As if you weren't in a horribly sad mood to begin with. 

"Hm," Crane makes a noise, staring hard at you as you walk in time behind the Sheriff. "It’s supposed to work on all Mundys within a certain radius." He lets out a noise of annoyance, shifting the box of evidence he's holding, grumbling. "Quality of the spell goes down but the prices stay up. You would think as _the Mayor_ they would at least give _me_ the highest quality products." 

You realise that over the time the two of you have been in each other's company, you have begun to notice tell-tale signs of Bigby's mood. Like how his shoulders would square if he's trying to be assertive, or how his jaw becomes stiff when he's annoyed. But right now, you were extremely uneasy... because Bigby wasn't giving off any hints of his mood... _whatsoever_. It makes you apprehensive that he is obviously trying his very best to conceal his emotions, whether it's because he doesn’t want to appear weak in front of others or because he was feeling much more than he wanted to let on, and chose to not confront his overwhelming emotions, but rather swallow them down entirely. 

"My car is just over there," Crane pipes up once the three of you are outside tasting freedom and swiftly descending down the police station steps, motioning to an old green car. "Hurry up." 

It's an awkward exchange that happens next. You're aware that Bigby is not himself right now, if his guarded disposition is telling you anything, and you're not sure that talking to him will do much at all. You're too busy wallowing in your own mixed emotions of grief and hurt to really fight any situation right now, even one such as getting bailed out by Crane and taking a ride in his car. Your hand reaches out to take the handle of the back door, not wanting to sit directly beside the Mayor of Fabletown for a plethora of reasons, when your hand is nudged away, and Bigby opens the door for you. It's not a gentle nudge – but it's not a harsh nudge either. You think that perhaps he wasn't as controlled on his strength as he usually is, and when he swings the door open for you to climb inside, he stares dead over your head, choosing not to acknowledge you. You give him a brief look, before wordlessly climbing into the backseat of the old car, obeying Bigby's silent orders and doing what you're told. Once Bigby and Crane are inside, Crane jolts the car to life and starts driving to what you can only assume is the Woodlands. 

The atmosphere is unpleasant to say the least. None of you are initiating any conversation because there really is no need. You don’t want to be inside the car, but you don’t really want to be outside the car either. You don’t really want to be _anywhere_ right now. 

"This doesn't change anything," Bigby growls, staring off out the window. For a second, you think he's talking to you, until you notice Crane huff. 

"Fine," the Mayor pushes back. "We found Tweedle Dee chained up to a post. That was your doing, correct?" 

"Yeah," the wolf hums back, his voice hard to place. 

"Well I don’t know why you detained him-" 

"He assaulted Bigby earlier today-" you chip in, but your silenced almost immediately. 

"Miss (last_name), I don't know why you're voicing yourself right now. What has happened in the last few hours has nothing to do with you or _your kind_. This is a matter for _Fables_. I would appreciate it if you stayed silent back there." 

There are a few seconds where you hold your breath, readying yourself for the tongue lashing Crane is about to receive from Bigby for talking to you like that... but it doesn’t come. Bigby doesn’t say anything at all. You're almost certain he's not daydreaming, because that seems like something Bigby just doesn’t do, and you don’t know why you've allowed yourself to become comfortable with the idea that it's Bigby's job to jump in and come to your defence. Maybe Bigby agrees with Crane. Maybe he thinks you've outstayed your welcome. 

"Anyway," Crane continues, "Dee was at the Trip Trap when Snow was left at the Woodlands, so he couldn’t possibly be involved in this mayhem. Bluebeard is currently interrogating him, but he hasn’t said anything useful." 

"There's two of them. Dee and Dum. They've been snooping around every crime scene I've looked at," Bigby explains. 

"That doesn't necessarily mean they're involved in the murders," Crane reasoned. He took a brief sideways glance at the Sheriff, and sighed. "I know what you're thinking, Bigby. It's been one full night and a slice of morning, and I already miss her, too." 

"Yeah..." Bigby grumbles, "It's... hard." 

"Did she, um, give any indication as to what she was thinking... when you saw her last, I mean?" 

"She could come off as callous, sometimes, but she wasn’t really," Bigby explains, "She said that she wanted to change things... make it easier for Fables to get help when they need it." 

Ichabod Crane falls silent for a moment, processing Bigby's response. It's a while before he speaks again. 

"I don’t know what else to say, Bigby. We have to put an end to this," Crane glances at you swiftly through the rear-view mirror, your eyes locking for a split-second before he tosses his gaze elsewhere. Whether it was by mistake or done on purpose is hard to tell because Crane doesn’t give you much time to think when he's acting all self-righteous, pulling up and stopping outside the Woodlands, continuing, "It's been two murders in as many days. If we don’t unearth our culprit and soon, there will likely be another on our doorstep tonight." 

Crane is halfway out the car door when Bigby replies, voice tired, "I'll get it done." Before he's reaching for his own door handle, and stepping out. 

"Please, Bigby," Crane mutters, "For Miss White." 

"I got it," Bigby forces, shutting the car door so hard, the glass breaks. 

You're quick to notice, with a heavy emotion, that Bigby seems to have completely forgotten about your presence altogether, his hand never once twitching to open your door like he usually would. You're suddenly aware that if you don’t get out of the car now, Bigby won't be stopping to wait on you. Scrambling for the handle and slamming the door shut, your strides are long in an effort to chase Bigby to the Woodlands, catching up to him only when the front entrance door is about to swing shut in your face. You manage to slide in, close to him now, and open your mouth to talk to him. Bigby obviously senses you're behind him, and hears your intake of breath to speak, but he cuts you off before you can. 

"Go back to your room," he tosses at you from over his shoulder, striding away. You are a little annoyed at yourself for feeling hurt at his words when you are completely aware that he doesn't mean to come off so brash. He's just extremely hurt. But the sadness you feel at his _tone_ is what you cannot shake. He sounds so nonchalant, even as he sighs when he can sense you're not moving, and adds, "wait for me there." 

Like a bratty child, you fold your arms. 

"No, I don't want to--" 

"You are such a huge pain in my ass, do you know that?" he snaps, rounding on you in an instant, all the hurt and anger he's feeling directed solely at you. To say you were taken aback would be an understatement. "I don’t need you! I don't need you – so... so just leave!" 

A small voice in your mind reasons that it sounds very much like he's trying to convince _himself_ that he doesn't need you by his side every waking minute of his existence, but the anger in his voice drowns out your conscious reasoning, and before he can watch the pain form on your features, you nod feebly and turn from him, quick to reach the elevator and step in. Quick to find your floor and dash to your room. Quick to find little to no comfort in the darkness of your apartment as you pull slightly at your hair, running a hand through it, and quick to think of a thousand reasons as to why Bigby would be right.


	16. The Apology

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me in my room at night : I really need to finish the next chapter of this story   
> Also me: *glances out the window* lol is that the sun

"Please open the door." 

"…" 

There is an aggravated huff, but it’s not menacing in its demeanour – just like he's tired and he wants you to listen to him because he has very little strength left. 

"I know you're in there," he calls, adding quietly but still loud enough for you to hear, "you should know that by now..." 

The door swings open suddenly as you yank the handle backward, trying your best to glare up at him, but it quickly falters when you see that he _looks_ just as exhausted as he sounds. He rubs his neck, stretching slightly, and you can't help but wince a little when you hear his bones crack. 

"What do you want?" you ask, and you keep your voice quiet because you cannot trust how your tone will sound. Would your voice break or would it come out like venom? Best to just avert your eyes and keep your voice low. 

He is silent for a minute, and you are acutely aware that his eyes are roaming your face as you shift awkwardly underneath his gaze. It's almost like he's going through thousands of possible conversations that the two of you could have in this exact moment, following up with all the reactions you might have based on what he chose to be his next words. It was like you could feel the seconds ticking by, like you both had been standing there forever. 

"Okay," he finally huffs, after a considerable pause. He straightens up and adds, "I'll let you hit me once, for hurting you with what I said." 

You snap your head up, eyes locking with his, trying to search his face for any possibility that he was joking around, but everything about his demeanour told you otherwise. How had he deduced that you were _hurt_ by his words and not angry or annoyed or apprehensive. How did he know that you were _upset_? Could he really read you that well? He closes his eyes after a few seconds, almost as if he is bracing himself and you feel frozen by the weight of the situation. Thousands of unspoken things whispered in your mind. It was like he wanted atonement for what he deemed was his wrongdoings. Like he thought the best way to deal with his mistakes was to offer himself up to your attacks without defence. He didn't need to do any of this. He didn't need to make you feel better. He didn't need to allow you a chance to physically hurt him. But he _wanted_ to. 

He waits patiently for your strike, but all he feels is your warm palm over his heart. 

"You're such an idiot," your voice is soft, almost unbearably so. 

He opens his eyes when he hears you sniff. They become much wider when he realises you were crying. Soft tears collecting under your lashes and dripping down your flushed cheeks – red with the effort you had been using to hold back your sadness. Shit. How could he not sense that you were crying?! The panic rises swiftly in his chest and his arms fly out to your shoulders, steadying you as he leans forward to bring himself at eye-level. 

"Hey, hey," he tries to sooth, but his voice comes out like he's chastising you. He grimaces at his own tone, and tries a different approach, one that has his whole muscles tensing and his body stiff with apprehension. 

He swiftly pulls you against his chest, and you allow yourself to become swallowed by his arms, face buried somewhere beneath his throat, your hearts beating frantically, but both keeping a steady rhythm with the other. The gesture is awkward, but not without comfort. His arms are almost vice-like in their grip around your body, but it's a combination of the fact that he's never quite hugged anyone before, and he doesn't really recognise his full-strength. It has your quiet sobs soothing into peaceful breaths and your tears stilling. You don't hug him back, for fear that he will feel trapped and try to recoil, so you stand content within his protective embrace. After a little while, and much to your slight shock, you are the first to pull away. You suppose it was because he had taken on the role of comforter, and it was ultimately up to you to decide when you were feeling better and no longer needed to be within his arms. 

He stands there silently, determined to keep his eyes trained over your head, rather than stare into your own. You shuffle your weight onto one foot, then the other, before you hum, a small smile tugging at your lips. The noise causes his gaze to hold yours sharply. 

"Thanks," you mutter, fidgeting. 

"Uh..." he goes back to staring anywhere but at you, adding, "you're welcome." 

There was that deafening silence again. 

"I'm feeling better now," your voice comes out just above a whisper. 

"...good," he replies. 

If you could hear the steady drum of your own heartbeat, then surely he could as well, right? 

"If... if you want to take the night off – it's alright with me. You should rest up anyway, it's been a hard night for all of us-" 

"No, no... I'm fine," you interrupt, sighing. "I shouldn't slack off just because I'm tired – it would be unfair to you..." you trail off, forcing the last sentence out of your lungs, "and to Snow-" 

"Snow's alright," Bigby blurts and you watch his fists clench and unclench quickly by his sides. He's searching your face for a reaction, his eyes keen and focused. You frown. 

"What do you mean she's 'alright'?" you flash him a wary gaze. "Bigby, she's... she's..." 

"She's not," he answers your unspoken question, watching you become more confused as he elaborates, "Whoever we saw on the streets, it must have been a spell or something that allowed them to mimic Snow's appearance. I mean, it must be. She walked in on me when I was downstairs... _interrogating_ Tweedle Dee." 

"You mean she's alive?" you rephrase, shaking your head, becoming more and more alarmed as you spoke, "but... but _how_? I _saw her_ , Bigby – you did too! She's... she's _dead_!" 

"Hey, hey," he hushes you before you can work yourself up too much, you retreat from him slightly, but he knows it's only a unconscious reaction from trying to understand what's going on, and not because you're pulling yourself away from _him_. "I know it's confusing," he continues, "Hell – I was speechless for a good 5 minutes after she walked in." 

You nod slightly, trying to process what was going on. So you suffered all that anger and frustration and pain and grief and _guilt_ for _nothing_? No. No, it wasn't for nothing. Because _whoever_ it was impersonating Snow... _they_ were still dead. _Murdered_. Because you couldn't act quick enough. They were still dead because _you failed them_. You and Bigby both. 

"Okay," you sigh, straightening up a little, "she's still alive. Where is she?" 

"Downstairs – waiting on us," he shrugs, a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips before he wipes it from his features. A quick gesture to make you feel better. 

"Then we should probably get going," you confirm, stepping out into the hallway and shutting your door behind you. 

"As long as you're alright with all this-" 

"I'm _fine_ with _all this_ ," you interject, giving him a brief laugh that lacked humour and set off down the hall without him. 

He catches up quick enough and tosses you a look, shoving his hands in his pockets as the two of you relax into a more comfortable pace. 

"What?" you ask, turning your head to shoot him a confused look. 

"Nothing," he grumbles, turning his head away and failing to hide his smirk. "I didn't say anything." 

"You don't have to," you sigh, mimicking his features as you pocket your hands and smile to yourself, "I can read you much better than you think." 

The wolf has a hard time wiping the genuine grin from his features, despite a few hard attempts, but as he looks back at you from the corner of his eye, it's heart-warming to see that you wear yours with pride. 

The older sly side of him slinks to the edge of the pathway that you skip, baring it's teeth in a wolfish grin. 

_That pride will get you caught, little one..._

The man he wanted to become pulls you behind him, unsheathing his sword. 

_Not if I can help it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the last tiny segment on a whim.   
> Please let me know if you understand it, or if it's just a random garbled mess of nonsense that makes you confused lol, if so, I'll just remove it...


End file.
